


Mark Our Place

by Miko



Series: We Shall Keep The Faith [3]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Child Murder, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Holocaust Reference, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Identity, Love Triangles, Memory Loss, Mutual Masturbation, Past Brainwashing, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unresolved Romantic Tension, held captive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-25 02:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3792883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly ten years after the death of Steve Rogers, Peggy is finally at a point where she's happy with her life. She's married to a wonderful man, is starting to earn real respect at her job, and spends more time thinking about the future than the past.</p><p>But the past is never that easy to let go of. When an impossible ghost comes back to haunt her, Peggy finds herself faced with a choice between her new life and new love, or the bonds of old friendships and shared grief. </p><p>This fic can stand alone if you're not interested in the rest of the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The restaurant Daniel had taken her to for their anniversary was charming and quaint, with a wonderful atmosphere and even better food. Peggy knew she should be enjoying the rare night off, but she couldn’t shake the tension that had been plaguing her all week.

Everywhere she went, she got the sensation she was being watched. There was nothing in particular she could point to – no glimpses of anyone following her, no sign of anyone lurking in the bushes around their house. Only when she was secure in the bunker the infant SHIELD organization had built did the prickling at the back of her neck ease. 

It was beyond merely aggravating. She’d learned the hard way to listen to her instincts when they said she was being targeted, and it had saved her life more than once. Yet Peggy knew if she mentioned it, the men around her would undoubtedly write it off as ‘female hysteria’. Even the ones who should bloody well know better, like Daniel and Howard. 

She needed something definitive before she’d be able to get them to take the threat seriously, but the question was how to get that proof.

“… so then Thompson apparently walked right up to the Sasquatch, bold as you please, and demanded that it surrender. Wish I could have seen it, must have been twice the size of him…”

Belatedly what Daniel was saying registered, and Peggy returned her full attention to him. “I’m sorry, did you say _Sasquatch_?”

There was a rueful smile tugging at her husband’s lips, and he shook his head at her. “Just checking to see if you were paying any attention, sweetheart.”

Flustered, Peggy blushed. “I’m sorry, I know I’m a little distracted. But I’m hardly going to miss you slipping Bigfoot into the conversation.”

“Really?” Daniel’s smile broadened to something truly amused, and his eyes shone. “Because you said ‘mm-hm’ to the mermaid and ‘that’s interesting’ about the alien.”

The blush grew exponentially, and Peggy hid her face briefly in her hands. Then she had to laugh, because it was just so ridiculous. Thankfully he laughed right along with her, and when she reached for his hand across the table, he gave it willingly. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked, amusement fading into concern. “Something’s been off all week. I know you can’t always tell me all the details about your work, but is there anything I _can_ do?”

She’d recruited Daniel to SHIELD the moment it was formed, of course, but as he was primarily a desk agent, he simply wasn’t cleared to know a great many of the classified things she worked on every day as one of the directors. It had caused friction between them early in their marriage, but they’d worked it out some time ago.

While it would have been a perfect excuse for her nerves, Peggy had long ago promised herself that she would never lie outright to Daniel if she could possibly avoid it. “It’s not work. Or rather, I suppose it probably is if it’s anything at all, but I simply don’t know one way or the other.”

Seeing his concern turning to true worry, she forced herself to smile and squeezed his hand. “I’m certain it’s nothing, darling. Just my paranoia acting up.”

“Yeah, well, seems like whenever you get paranoid it’s because someone _is_ after you, so be careful.” Daniel was serious, not responding to her attempt to lighten the tone of the conversation, and she was surprised.

Surprised, and rather shamed by her earlier certainty that he wouldn’t believe her. It was moments like this that made her fall for him all over again. 

“I keep feeling as though someone is following me, watching my every move,” she admitted. “I can’t shake it, but I also can’t identify what’s causing me to feel that way. My subconscious must be catching small clues that my conscious mind is missing, but that doesn’t help me to determine the source of the problem.”

“And you feel it right now?” Daniel frowned when Peggy nodded. “I’d trust your instincts, Peg. Maybe you should pretend like you’re going to powder your nose, slip out the back and see if you can find whoever’s tailing you. They won’t expect you to leave in the middle of our anniversary dinner, so they won’t be looking for you.”

“They won’t be expecting it because it’s something I shouldn’t do,” Peggy countered. “I hardly seem to get any time with you these days, and we’ve both been looking forward to tonight for weeks. I don’t want to ruin it over something that may well turn out to be nothing at all.”

“Neither of us is going to enjoy ourselves if we’re worried.” Daniel squeezed her hand once more and smiled, then let her go. “Go get ‘em, and by the time you’re done they’ll have brought dessert.”

His confidence in her ability to handle any threat was always uplifting. Not for the first time, Peggy wondered what she’d done to deserve not just one, but two such amazing men in her life. When Steve had died she’d thought her chance at happiness with a man who could accept her as she was had died with him. Also not for the first time, she wished she could introduce Steve to Daniel, because she knew he’d have liked the other man just as much as Peggy did. 

Well. Perhaps not _just_ as much, or at least not in quite the same way.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she promised, rising from her seat and leaning over to kiss him briefly as she walked past.

“You’d better be, because my plans for you this evening don’t end with dinner,” he replied, and winked at her. 

Laughing softly to herself, Peggy made her way to the back hall that led to both the powder rooms and the rear entrance to the restaurant. One of the wait staff spotted her and tried to turn her back towards the public areas, but she flashed her shiny new SHIELD badge and the man retreated into the kitchen, wide-eyed.

Out in the alley, the reek of rotting food from the dumpster was overpowering. Breathing as shallowly as she could, Peggy picked her way through the debris littering the area. At the mouth of the alley she stopped just before she would have stepped out of the shadow, and scanned the street at the front of the restaurant.

It was a busy thoroughfare, with people walking back and forth on both sides and cars packed in on the road. A person remaining still would have stood out immediately, and though Peggy watched for several minutes, she didn’t see anyone pass by twice. 

That left the buildings across the way. Unless her mysterious pursuer had somehow known ahead of time what restaurant Daniel planned to take her to, it was unlikely he or she had managed to set up in one of the apartments and offices overlooking the street.

The roof it was, then. Peggy went back down the alley to the street at the other end, then around the block so she could cross the road out of sight of the restaurant. She then made her way through more alleys until she reached the building directly across from the restaurant. It was shorter than the buildings on either side of it, which meant someone on that roof would have a better view inside. 

Jumping, she managed to catch the bottom rung of the fire escape, and hauled herself up with some struggle. She tried not to think too hard about the state her beautiful new dress was going to end up in. That was what she got for dressing up, but their fifth wedding anniversary had seemed to warrant the effort. At least she’d worn sensible shoes, not heels.

As stealthily as she could she climbed to the top of the building, testing each step to make certain it wouldn’t squeak and betray her. She drew her snub-nosed revolver from her purse, lamenting her inability to carry anything more powerful on an evening out. At least, not without drawing considerable unwanted attention. Depending on who was tracking her, it might or might not be sufficient. Hopefully she’d be able to get a quick look and assess the situation before revealing herself.

At the top she paused, counted silently to thirty, and cautiously poked her head above the edge. Nothing was immediately visible, and she climbed a little higher to get a proper look.

The rooftop was empty as far as she could see. There was a small building at the back where the stairwell door was, and there could have been someone hiding behind it, but they wouldn’t have been able to see the restaurant. Even so, Peggy crept over to it and around to the other side, whipping her gun around the corner first in case someone was there.

It was just as empty as all the rest of the roof. This had to be the right building; when she moved up to the front edge of the roof she could just see Daniel through the front window of the restaurant, but the buildings on either side would be too high to see in.

Had it been her imagination after all? Or had she made too much noise and scared her watcher away? There was no way to know for certain, and that meant she’d just have to continue to feel paranoid until another opportunity to catch her hunter presented itself. Sighing, she lowered her gun, intending to return it to her purse since there was no threat. 

A soft thud behind her was her only warning that she was no longer alone. She tried to turn, lifting the gun again, but her unknown assailant was faster. She got a glimpse of a man in a dark outfit charging towards her, and then he tackled her from the side and grappled her into a secure chokehold before she had a chance to even think about dodging.

He was unbelievably strong, and the arm across her throat was so solid it might as well have been made of metal. Fighting for air, Peggy slammed her foot into the man’s kneecap. She felt it buckle, and he cursed as he was forced to release her. Spinning, she punched at him with the hand holding the pistol, aiming for his temple and hoping the weight of the gun would lend her enough momentum to knock him out.

Unfortunately it turned out he was just as agile as he was strong, ducking quickly to the side and raising his left arm to deflect her blow. She thought she heard the sound of metal striking metal as her gun hit his sleeve. He had to be wearing some kind of body armour, though she’d never seen or heard of the like.

Then she was on the defensive again, frantically blocking and parrying his blows and kicks. It reminded her of fighting with that Russian spy, a flurry of attacks almost too quick to follow, except he weighed twice what that woman had and could put a great deal more power into his strikes.

No… it reminded her of watching _Steve_ fight. Too fast, too strong, too graceful to be quite human. It might have been beautiful to witness, if she hadn’t been his target.

With her heart in her throat, Peggy dropped to the ground to avoid another punch, then rolled to get away from the kick he aimed at her. When she surged to her feet again she brought up a fistful of the tarred gravel that paved the rooftop, and flung it straight at his face. 

He swore again and turned his head, giving her just enough time to swing the gun around. She squeezed off two shots without bothering to aim; from this distance she could hardly miss.

Except somehow, impossibly, he got his arm up in time and _deflected_ the bullets. His shirt was damaged, but she definitely saw the gleam of metal revealed beneath, and it wasn’t even dented.

That same arm shot forward, and he anticipated her attempt to dodge with contemptuous ease. His hand closed around her throat and he lifted her right off her feet, as easily as if she weighed no more than a feather.

Peggy kicked at him, but already she could feel herself weakening, and her blows seemed to have no effect at all. There could be no question; this man had been treated with the same serum as Steve, or something similar to it. Their enemies had finally managed to duplicate the formula.

His arm was too long for her to gouge at his face, and her nails scrabbled ineffectively at the metal covering his hand. Darkness was closing in on her, and no matter how she strained she couldn’t get a single breath of air past his grip.

Turning, he slammed her back against the wall of the stairwell. He grabbed her shoulder to pin her in place with his other hand, then drew the metal one away just before she would have passed out. Peggy couldn’t do anything but gasp raggedly, drawing in as much precious oxygen as she could, trying not to start coughing as the bruising in her throat protested.

When she was able to focus again, she found her assailant standing with his metal arm cocked back, hand fisted and aimed straight at her head. The threat was clear; he was probably strong enough to dent the concrete behind her, let alone her fragile skull.

“Who are you,” he demanded, the words hardly more than a growl. “ _Who are you?_ ”

The question made no sense. If this was the man who had been following her, why had he been doing so if he didn’t even know who she was? Could it all be a misunderstanding? Perhaps he’d thought she was someone else. Peggy attempted to answer, but all that emerged was a wheeze. She lifted her hands to clutch at her throat, trying to indicate that she wasn’t refusing to comply. 

Her mind was racing, searching for a way out of the situation. She couldn’t possibly shout loudly enough to attract attention from the people on the street, let alone alert Daniel that something was wrong. Her snub-nose was relatively quiet when it fired, something she normally appreciated but at the moment it meant no one below had heard it. Daniel would come looking for her eventually, but by then it would be far too late. Either the man would have killed her, or taken her away. 

With a frustrated snarl her attacker backed away a few steps, giving her room to catch her breath. He kicked her gun to the other side of the roof in the process; she didn’t even remember dropping it. Without a weapon, they both knew she didn’t have a chance against him, so he hardly needed to be looming over her in order to threaten her.

The movement brought him into the sphere of dim light thrown by the single bulb over the stairwell. For the first time, Peggy got a good look at him without shadows obscuring his features. 

His hair was too long, greasy and unkempt in a way that suggested he might not have seen a shower in the entire time he’d been tailing her. Stubble all but obscured the lower half of his face, thick enough to be more properly called a beard at this point. His eyes looked black in the flickering light… but she knew they weren’t. 

They were blue. Even with all the changes, even with the sheer impossibility of knowing she was looking at a ghost, she couldn’t possibly fail to recognize the man before her, and his eyes had always been the blue of a fallen angel's.

It was agonizing to talk, but she forced the word through her damaged throat anyway. It came out as a disbelieving squeak, barely understandable. 

“Bucky?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Bucky?” 

The word (name, it’s a name) seemed to ring inside his head, echoing like the sound of it was bouncing off the inside of his skull, and every time it got more painful. Sometimes that happened, sometimes words and memories and even thoughts would tear at his mind like barbed wire, until he could force himself to put them aside. He vaguely remembered a time when the pain was external, applied by his handlers when he misbehaved, but he was (broken) good now. 

Except at times like this, because it wasn’t just the name, it was the very sight of her. From the moment he’d been handed the dossier for his target, from the moment he’d looked at her through his scope, his head had been full of echoes of agony (and screaming, always the screaming in the back of his mind).

Five times he’d had her in his sights over the last week, dead to rights. Five times he’d fought with himself, unable to pull the trigger. 

He needed to understand who she was, that she could have so much power over him. “That’s not an answer. Who the hell are you?” 

“My name is... Peggy Carter.” The effort it took her to get the words out was obvious, as was the pain it caused her (you hurt her you bastard), but her eyes never wavered from his. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was telling the truth.

Too bad for her, he did know better. He surged forward, catching her by surprise as he slammed his arm across her chest and pushed her back against the wall once more. With most of his considerable weight leaning into her she could barely breathe, unable to lift her chest enough to fill her lungs.

“You’re lying to me,” he snarled. From this close, he could see the fear in her eyes, the realization that she was helpless against him, and it gave him a (sick) triumphant feeling. “Your name is Margaret Sousa, that was in the mission briefing.”

She fought to answer, and he backed off just enough to let her breathe again so she could. “Yes, but when you knew me I was Peggy Carter.”

“Knew you?” More agony, more thoughts he shouldn’t be having. She gasped and choked as he applied more pressure to her chest, forcibly collapsing her lungs (stop it stop it _stop it_ ) and not allowing her to breathe in at all. “I don’t know you. Stop _lying_ to me. Who are you?”

Once more he let up, enough to permit her to speak. “I don’t understand,” she protested hoarsely. “You know my name. What more do you want?”

“I want to know who the hell you are that I can’t kill you,” he snarled. “I’ve had you in my scope half a dozen times this week, and I can’t pull the trigger. Who _are_ you? Why can’t I complete my mission?”

The mission was what mattered, the only thing that mattered. His handlers had sent him out before, on missions to kill (innocent people) unimportant targets, but those had been tests. Tests of his loyalty, of his compliance, of his (despair) willingness. He’d passed them all, and they’d finally given him a real mission. 

And now, when it mattered, he was failing.

His words obviously startled her, and she stared up at him for a long moment, wheezing. He didn’t apply pressure again, because he didn’t want to accidentally (hurt her further) kill her before he had his answers, but the threat was there.

He expected her to fight, to try to break free. She’d already shown that she was determined and resourceful, unwilling to back down from a fight no matter how bad the odds against her (god why did that thought hurt so _much_ ).

Instead she shocked him by going completely limp. Not as if she’d fainted, but a deliberate relaxing of her muscles, hands dropping to her sides. It wasn’t submission. Her eyes had never left his and there was no mistaking the core of steel behind her actions. Unthreatening, he realized – she was trying to be unthreatening, unaggressive.

“I’m your friend, Bucky. Your very close friend,” she said, and the conviction in her voice stabbed straight to his heart. “We fought together, during the war. We’ve saved each other’s lives a dozen times. My name is Peggy, and you are Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.”

“I... I don’t...” For the first time he faltered, swallowing hard and lifting his right hand to clutch at his head as the agony spiked. He had to back away, to release her, get out of range before she could (reach out to him) take advantage of his sudden weakness. “No. I don’t know that name. I don’t know you.”

“Yes, you do,” she insisted softly. She took a step towards him, following him as he continued to retreat, her hands low and visible as if to show that she wasn’t trying to attack. “You do know me, and that’s why you can’t kill me. Who sent you, Bucky? Who gave you the mission to kill me?”

“HYDRA,” he answered, and the word tasted foul in his mouth.

“Johann Schmidt is dead. HYDRA died with the Red Skull.” Her expression was somewhere between shocked and disbelieving, and she said the words like she was trying to convince herself of their truth. 

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” The phrase was a reflexive response, drilled into him over and over again. For the first time in a long time (too long) he questioned _why_ he said them, what they meant. They were the words that had been given to him, and he used them because they were the only words that didn’t bring more punishment. So why did it feel like he was choking on them?

For some reason, she looked almost as pained as he felt, biting her lip as her brow furrowed. “We thought you were dead. If we’d had even the slightest notion you could be alive, Steve would have torn the world apart if that’s what it took to find you.”

“Steve?” This spike of agony was worse than all the others combined, and he couldn’t stop the tiny pained sound that escaped him. He knew it was bad, that his handlers would punish him for showing weakness if they found out, and they always found out. He never should have started talking to her (he’d needed to hear her voice), should have pulled the trigger the first time he’d seen her, but now his defenses were crumbling rapidly.

Worse, she seemed to sense it. Her eyes lit up at his response, and she stepped forward again, one hand outstretched like she wanted him to take it. “Yes, Steve Rogers. Your best friend. You grew up together, you were closer than most brothers ever could be. He would happily have died in your place if it meant saving you, I think.”

“Captain America.” Hearing the full name (hurt so bad) made him realize exactly who she was talking about. It was the biggest mistake she’d made yet, because it reminded him of who he was (who they’d forced him to become) and what he was supposed to be fighting (against) for. “He’s the enemy. You’re my enemy. I have to kill you, it’s my mission. I _have_ to.” 

With one smooth movement he drew the pistol from the holster at his thigh. It was a big gun, high caliber, heavy enough that he wouldn’t have been able to steady it with one hand if not for the modifications they’d made to him. At this range it wouldn’t just kill her (he’d never forgive himself), it would blow her brains right out of the back of her skull. 

“I’m not your enemy, Bucky. I could never be your enemy.” Despite the way she was obviously fighting to keep her voice steady, it broke on the last word. In anyone else he’d have assumed it was terror, but although he saw fear in her eyes, the dominant emotions were sorrow and regret.

“Please, listen to me,” she said, soft and coaxing. “I can help you. We’ll find a way to undo what they’ve done to you, bring you back to your senses. You don’t _want_ to kill me, you know you don’t, or you’d have done it already. Listen to your instincts. Come with me.”

He continued to stare at her over the sights, trying to see her as nothing more than a target. Some part of him, deep inside, the part that whispered to him of horrible things and didn’t want him to behave... the part that screamed in his head louder and louder the more he became the weapon he was meant to be... that was the part that was holding him back now, preventing him from pulling the trigger. That part of him wanted to hear more, to believe in what she said, and he couldn’t remember the last time it had been this strong.

Moving forward once more, she walked right up to him, stopping only when the barrel of the gun rested against her temple. Still her eyes never left his, and the trust he saw there left him staggered. She trusted him. Trusted him not to shoot her. He’d been sent to kill her, and she _trusted_ him (like he trusted her).

“Let me help you,” she whispered, and reached up slowly to cover his hand on the gun with both of hers.

When she tugged on his hand, he let her draw the weapon down and to the side, until the barrel was pointing past her instead of at her. “I don’t understand,” he said, plaintive and resentful at the same time. “I don’t understand who you are, or why you’re doing this, or why I can’t kill you. I need to understand.”

“If you kill me, you’ll never understand,” she countered, and he couldn’t refute her logic. “Come with me, Bucky.”

Another long moment passed, a hundred conflicting emotions passing through him. Emotion wasn’t supposed to factor into his decisions, but he couldn’t shake it off. Despite the pain he felt every time she said that name (his name, damn it), he still wanted to listen. Finally his shoulders slumped. “All ri...”

A soft scuff of movement on the roof of the building next to them alerted him to the danger, and he reacted instinctively before he could even consciously process what he’d heard. Dropping the gun, he grabbed her by the shoulders and wrenched her to one side, not caring that he was probably damaging her with his strength and speed. Any damage he caused would be nothing compared to what the bullet aimed for her heart would do.

He managed to get her out of the way, barely. The bullet struck her low on the left shoulder, passing through his flesh hand in the process, but he didn’t cry out. Physical pain was something he’d been taught to ignore, to work through, even if it was crippling. The mission was all that mattered.

And right now, his mission was to keep her safe long enough to get the answers he needed. For once, the voice in his head had nothing to say in protest.

She clearly thought he was attacking her, and twisted to try to duck out of his hold. He let her go, pushing with one hand to angle her momentum so she would end up behind him. Once he was between her and the snipers he snatched his secondary pistol out of its holster. His injured hand protested, fingers refusing to close properly around the weapon, and he swore and switched to his other hand.

The metal arm didn’t have as much mobility as the flesh one. They were always tinkering with it, and every time he woke from the icy sleep it was better than before, but it was far from perfect. Thankfully, he didn’t need it to be perfect for this.

He fired at the place where he’d seen the muzzle flare when they’d shot at her, and someone screamed in the darkness. Amateur. The shooter should have changed position the moment the shot was fired to avoid exactly this scenario. 

More shots came, from the roof on the left this time. His target dove out from behind him, landing near the weapon he’d taken from her and turning the move into a roll that put her behind the shelter of the stairwell. Immediately she leaned back around again, firing at the left roof. She had spirit, he definitely had to give her that.

Confident that she would occupy their assailants on that side (of course she would watch his back, just like he would watch hers), he returned his attention to the roof on the right. Two more shooters were firing, and either they were the worst shots he’d ever seen, or they were deliberately ignoring him and trying to hit her. Belatedly it occurred to him that these people might well be his handlers, stepping in to collect him once he'd definitively failed in his mission, and not unknown enemies at all.

The thought left him frozen, trembling as his instincts and his training insisted on wildly different actions. He wasn’t permitted to attack his handlers (he’d done it before), they would punish him so severely if he did (just shoot the bastards) he would be in unrelenting agony for days (it would be worth it to hurt them back). 

Louder gunshots from just beside him jerked him out of the emotional deadlock he’d been trapped in, and he looked down to see that his target had discarded her own gun – out of bullets, presumably – and picked up the one he’d dropped when he saved her. She needed both hands to lift it, and the effort of holding it made the blood flow faster from the bullet wound in her shoulder.

Once again he was forced to admire her determination. Battered, bleeding out, and barely able to breathe, still she wouldn’t give up (so much like… no it hurt too much).

Thankfully, it appeared she’d taken care of his dilemma for him. There were no further shots fired, nor any sound of movement from the rooftops.

The street was another matter. The gunshots had attracted far too much attention; he could hear people shouting below, and the sound of sirens in the distance. He needed to relocate, quickly. 

“Daniel,” she said, the word almost too faint to make out. His gun slipped from her hands, blood running down her arm to drip onto it as she collapsed to her knees (help her, damn it!).

Daniel Sousa was the name of her husband, the man she’d been having dinner with. Not listed as a target on the mission briefing, but he’d been given a certain amount of discretion if collateral damage was necessary to take out the primary target. He’d chosen not to exercise it thus far, but if the man was going to charge in to rescue her…

No, Sousa was an injured veteran. It was unlikely in the extreme that he’d be able to reach the rooftop in time to interfere. There was no need to (kill someone she loved) add to the body count.

The woman was barely able to hold herself upright now, swaying from the shock and blood loss, and was probably going to pass out at any moment. He could (should) leave her here for her husband to find – she’d probably be taken to a hospital, and quite likely put under guard now that she knew she was being targeted. It would be difficult to reach her again. Not impossible, but this mission was already enough of a mess.

Making up his mind, he quickly picked up the discarded firearms, including hers. Once they were securely stowed with the rest of his gear, he turned and lifted her, hefting her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

She made a protesting noise as he picked her up, then a pained sound when her stomach hit the metal ridge between his arm and what remained of his shoulder, knocking the air out of her. A moment later she went limp, overcome by her collective injuries.

Satisfied that she wouldn’t struggle and impede him, he turned and leapt off the rooftop. He still needed his answers, and clearly she was the only one who could give them to him.


	3. Chapter 3

The soft, irregular sound of something dripping was the first thing Peggy was aware of as she returned to consciousness. She listened to the sound for some time, her mind drifting and unable to connect one thought to another. It made her realize that she was unbearably thirsty, her mouth as dry as sandpaper, but it didn’t occur to her to try to do anything about it. Even though her eyes were closed, the world seemed to spin around her, until it was all she could do not to be sick.

The next thing she became aware of was a stale, musty odour, a smell she associated with decay and mould. Beneath it was a hint of rust, and a metallic scent she identified after a long moment as dried blood.

She tried to move, and agony shot through her left shoulder. Peggy clenched her teeth to prevent a whimper from escaping her. She remembered now... remembered the fight, and the gunfire. Remembered her would-be assassin.

 _Bucky Barnes_ was alive, HYDRA had sent him to kill her, and he’d saved her life instead.

And then, apparently, he’d carted her off somewhere. This certainly didn’t smell like any hospital she’d ever been in, and that’s where she would have ended up if anyone but Bucky had taken her off the roof. In hospital, or in a grave, but in the latter case she wouldn’t have needed to concern herself about it.

Grimly, she took inventory of the state her body was in. She could breathe easier now than before, though that wasn’t saying much. The fact that it was noticeably improved wasn’t a good sign, in that it meant considerable time had passed while she was unconscious. The fiery burn in her shoulder was painful, but as long as she didn’t try to move it was tolerable. Only her back hurt, which meant there was no exit wound at the front, but presumably the bullet had been removed or she’d be in a great deal more pain and feverish with wound rot besides.

The rest of her was a mass of bruises from being slammed around in the fight, but functional. With a silent sigh of relief, she forced her eyes open and looked blearily around her.

The first thing she saw was a tiled surface - no, two surfaces, at right angles. A floor and a wall, if she could trust herself to be able to identify up from down with the way her head was still spinning. The tile had probably been white at some point, but now it was a dull, dingy grey and the grout was crumbling and covered in mould. That explained the scent, at least.

With great effort she managed to turn her head, wincing as the move made her bruised throat protest. The rust and the dripping were explained when she saw the old clawfoot tub behind her. The white paint was chipping and peeling, revealing rusting metal beneath, and though she couldn’t see the faucet the dripping was coming from that direction.

Next on her mental catalogue of the room came an old porcelain toilet and matching sink… and the exposed plumbing pipes of that sink had a heavy steel cable looped around it and tied in a knot as if it was a rope.

She quickly discovered why when she followed the cable to its end and discovered it was wrapped securely around her wrist, also knotted in place. Sudden fear made her heart rate jump, and she instinctively tried to grab the cable with her other hand to undo it. Unfortunately the cable was attached to her uninjured arm, and when she tried to move the other it sent a jab of excruciating pain shooting through her shoulder.

Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t quite stop a muffled cry of pain from escaping her. Shuffling noises from outside the room told her she wasn’t alone, and heavy footsteps approached a moment later.

“Don’t move,” Bucky ordered her, looming in the lavatory doorway. “You’ll tear the stitches. It was hard enough to set them with my hand injured, I’ll just hurt you more if I have to do it again.”

Well, that was both disturbing and promising. At least it confirmed that it was Bucky who’d taken her, and not their unknown assailants. That he’d apparently cleaned and cared for her wound, and was concerned now about hurting her, boded well for her chances of coming out of this experience alive. 

But it also meant he was the one who had tied her here – how strong _was_ he, to treat metal cable as if it was flimsy rope? – and she already knew he was working for HYDRA. They could arrive at any moment, or be out there already. Some part of Bucky clearly remained intact enough that he didn’t want to hurt her, but the same would not be true of any other HYDRA agent.

All she could do was attempt to appeal to that part of him that still remembered her, and convince him to let her loose. Once she’d gotten that far, she could assess whether her next option was to escape, or try to help him further. “Bucky.” It came out as a rasp, the dryness in her mouth and bruising in her throat conspiring against her.

Just as every other time she’d said his name, he flinched. She felt bad for inflicting further pain on him when he’d clearly suffered so much already, but her best hope was to remind him of who he really was. “Bucky,” she said again, and managed a little more volume this time. “Why am I tied up?”

He glanced at the cable, then back at her, and shrugged. “I can’t risk you sneaking off when I’m not looking. You’re going to try to escape.”

He said it like it was a certainty, and she wondered if that was his subconscious memory of her speaking or just a realization of her tenacity after their fight. At least he was considerably less angry and aggressive than he had been previously. “What if I promise to behave? Not to run away?”

Again Bucky seemed to consider it, before shaking his head. “Not until I get my answers. I need to understand.”

“Surely you can’t mean to leave me tied up in here,” she protested. Her body was aching with cold already, the tiles sucking all the heat out of her. The hard surface wasn’t exactly helping her bruises any, either. Her now thoroughly ruined dress provided neither cushioning nor warmth. She’d experienced far worse in the field during the war, of course, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. She’d gotten soft, with nearly a decade of easy living since then. Why on earth had he tied her in the lavatory in the first place?

He frowned, but not like he was angry, more as if he was perplexed by her question. He did a quick survey of the room, perhaps looking for whatever was making her object. “I thought you’d rather have access to the toilet, and water from the sink. I’ll bring you food.”

Bemused by the idea that he believed he was being _kind_ , Peggy tried hard not to think about what that probably said regarding the conditions he had been living in under HYDRA’s ‘care’. It hurt too much to picture Bucky being tormented like that, to imagine all the horrible things they must have done to break him so thoroughly. She’d read reports about the process called ‘brainwashing’, both the Nazi experiments and those performed in secret by the US government, and it was utterly barbaric. Something similar had surely been done to him.

Nothing less could ever have made this man spout HYDRA’s rhetoric like it was ingrained. The only person it would have been more horrifying to hear it from was Steve Rogers himself. 

“May I at least have a blanket?” she asked. The more she could make him see her as someone he needed to take care of, the more likely he would come to sympathize with her plight and perhaps take pity on her. She’d had training in the theory of what to do if she were ever to be captured, and rule number one was to make the captor view her as a person, establish as much of a connection between them as possible. That was even more vital in Bucky’s case, but the trick was to balance it with not appearing weak and losing his respect.

“A blanket?” Again she’d surprised him, and he looked her over more carefully. “You’re cold?”

“And not terribly comfortable,” she added. “Some of us are not enhanced to be better able to withstand hardship. Please?”

He hesitated, probably trying to determine whether giving her a blanket would somehow provide her the opportunity to escape. Peggy only wished she could think of some way it _would_. It appeared he came to the same negative conclusion she had, because he turned and left the doorway.

She heard rustling fabric from just a few yards away – the room beyond must not be very large, or else Bucky had set up right outside the door in order to keep an eye on her. When he reappeared he was carrying two ratty old army blankets that looked like they hadn’t been washed any more recently than he had, but they would still be an improvement over the hard floor.

She struggled to sit up, hampered by her injuries and the tether on her good arm. After a moment he moved forward and helped her, lifting her effortlessly by the waist, placing one of the blankets beneath her, and wrapping the other around her shoulders after he set her down. 

To her surprise he stood just long enough to fill a cup with water from the tap, then knelt and held it to her lips. She drank it awkwardly, spilling quite a bit of it down her front, but got enough of it into her mouth to ease the worst of the soreness in her throat. He set the cup aside but remained crouched next to her, and from this distance she could see uncertainty in his expression.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Contact was important in creating that essential personal connection, but he jerked back from her hand as if he expected a blow instead. Immediately she froze, letting him realize that her intention hadn’t been aggressive. Only when Bucky relaxed again did Peggy allow her hand to fall back into her lap.

“You say you want answers, but you may not like them once you have them.” She watched him carefully, and saw the conflict playing out behind his eyes. Part of him knew what he was going to hear, but another part of him was already rejecting it, trying to protect him from the pain it would cause. 

Inspiration struck, and she smiled at him. “I know. Why don’t we play Twenty Questions. I’ll answer one of your questions, and then you answer one of mine.” Perhaps turning it into a game would appeal to that sympathetic side of him she was trying to encourage, remind him that not everything had to be about torture and pain.

Bucky leaned back, clearly wary and suspicious of the suggestion. “You’re my prisoner, you don’t get to interrogate me.”

The confirmation that he viewed her as a prisoner was dismaying, but not unexpected. “It’s not an interrogation, it’s a free exchange of information. I don’t want enemy intelligence, I only want to know what’s happened to you since I saw you last.” That had to be the century’s greatest understatement, but she had to be careful how she phrased things. “Wouldn’t it be easier to earn my answers with such a simple method, instead of needing to force me to tell you what you want to know?”

“You don’t want to make me force you.” His words were flat, a statement of fact and not a warning. His expression went hard, and she could see darkness lurking in his eyes. In that moment she knew that he was very, very right – she absolutely did not want him to force her, because it would involve torture. He would be thorough and merciless, and it would destroy any hope she had of reaching his true self. 

Trying to conceal her instinctive shudder of fear, Peggy shook her head. “No, of course not,” she said, perhaps a little too fast. “All right, then. No games. I’ll tell you what you want to know, if I can.” If he asked about anything classified she might end up testing his brute force interrogation skills after all, but his words on the rooftop seemed to indicate that what he wanted from her would be personal, not professional.

Crouched on the floor next to her, with his back against the old tub, Bucky studied her for a long moment. She wondered what was going through his mind, and had a sickening feeling she probably didn’t really want to know. What would the thoughts of a man so broken sound like? Nothing pleasant, surely.

Not surprisingly, he led with the question he’d repeatedly asked her before. “Who are you?”

“I think what you mean is, who am I to you,” she corrected him softly. “I already told you. We were dear friends, and comrades in arms, along with the rest of the Howling Commandos.”

Again he flinched. It seemed to be names that incited the conditioned response, or perhaps the memories associated with those names. She didn’t dare mention Steve again directly, not after Bucky’s extremely negative reaction the last time. All she could do was try to provoke the memories of his best friend by bringing up other memories that related to Steve. 

“If you fought with the Howling Commandos, then you were my enemy, not my friend,” he insisted, eyes narrowed. “I warned you about lying to me.”

The menace in his voice was clear, and that hard darkness had never left his expression. Peggy forced herself to appear unconcerned and relaxed. “I warned _you_ that you might not like my answers, but that doesn’t make them less true. HYDRA was your enemy, not us. They captured you once, but you were rescued along with the others who later became the Commandos, and many more. We fought together for the better part of a year.”

His lip curled up on one side, a silent snarl, but he didn’t directly object to her words again so she ploughed on. “You and several others boarded a HYDRA train carrying one of their top scientists. There was an accident, and… you fell. The train was moving very fast, and the cliff was very high. We thought there was no way you could have survived.”

It was impossible, and even with the living proof not two feet away from her, Peggy still found it difficult to believe it was real. “There was some indication they had used you for experiments the first time they capture you,” she remembered, half speaking to herself now. “It didn’t appear as though there were any effects at the time, but we didn’t really test you thoroughly since you seemed to be fine. Perhaps whatever they did then allowed you to survive the fall, and then they recaptured you without us ever suspecting.”

The squeak of protesting metal made her glance down, and she saw that his hands were curled tightly into fists. It was his left hand making the sound, but his right was bleeding sluggishly through a rough bandage that had been hastily applied. 

“You’re hurt,” she exclaimed. “That’s from when you saved me, isn’t it? Bucky, let me help you. You obviously had difficulty caring for it with only one hand. I can fix it, I certainly owe you that much for my life.”

As she’d hoped, the change in subject distracted him, and slowly some of the tension eased from his body. “It will be fine,” he said, his tone dismissive. “I heal fast. You should be more worried about yourself.”

Peggy honestly wasn’t certain whether that had been intended as a threat or concern. She thought perhaps Bucky wasn’t certain, either, and chose to take that as a good sign of sorts. “If we were truly enemies in the past, Bucky, you wouldn’t be hesitating to kill me now. Some part of you remembers. You know what I’m saying is true.”

He stood abruptly and turned away from her. “I don’t know _anything_ ,” he murmured, anguished, and she didn’t think he’d meant to say it out loud.

“Either I’m lying to you, or they are,” Peggy pointed out ruthlessly. “I’m not the one trying to convince you that my version is the truth by punishing you every time you think otherwise. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Shaking his head, he strode out of the tiny room and turned out of sight. She heard his footsteps head away, heavy and uneven, and then the sound of a door slamming.

Leaning back against the tub, huddling into her thin blanket, Peggy wondered if upsetting him so much was a sign of victory for her, or for HYDRA.

* * *

Hours passed with no sign of Bucky. Efforts to free herself proved fruitless. Even if her arm hadn’t been weakened by the injury, she didn’t think she’d have been able to pry the cable free of its knot. Nor did she have any better luck working on the knot around the plumbing, even though she could bring both hands to bear on it. If he didn’t return, for whatever reason, she was going to be in a great deal of trouble. Starvation wasn’t the worst way to die, but it was hardly a pleasant option.

At some point she must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew she was jerking awake, hissing in agony as she flailed and struck the tub with her injured arm. Disoriented, she tried to figure out what had woken her, and was just about to conclude it had been her own dreams when she heard a scream from the other room.

“Bucky? Bucky!” It had to be him, unless he was keeping some other prisoner here she wasn’t aware of. Almost, Peggy hoped that _was_ the case, because she didn’t want that awful, hysterical sound to be coming from him. 

There was no answer to her repeated calling of his name, though the irregular screams did finally trail off into ragged moans. Frustrated at her inability to find out what was happening, Peggy yanked once again at the cable tethering her to the sink.

This time she pulled hard enough that something shifted. Not the cable, but the pipe itself, she realized. The plumbing was so old it was starting to rust through in spots, and her pulling had warped it. Grabbing the cable with both hands, she swung around so her feet were braced on the wall behind the pipes, and heaved with all her strength.

Her shoulder screamed a protest, but she ignored it grimly. Again and again she put her whole weight and all the power in her arms and legs into the effort, and finally she was rewarded when the pipe sheared off near the top with a horrid screech of metal.

Quickly she pulled the loop of the cable off the pipe, and shoved herself to her feet. There was no point in stealth, she’d made far too much noise getting free to hide from whoever or whatever was hurting Bucky. She needed to get out there quickly and find out what was happening.

As she turned to the entrance she realized she hadn’t heard any sounds from him in some time, and a moment later she fetched up against the solid wall of his body as he tried to enter the room. He snarled at her, and before she quite knew what he intended he’d grabbed both her hands, looping the cable around her other wrist so her arms were securely tied together.

“Bucky, what…” Peggy broke off with a yelp of pain as he yanked on the cable, straining her injured shoulder and forcing her to stumble out into the other room. “What are you doing?”

“You promised you wouldn’t try to escape,” he growled, tugging at her again. He was breathing hard, and the rank smell of his sweat made her want to gag. His eyes were wild, and there was no sign in his expression of the sympathy and care he’d shown for her earlier.

As she’d surmised the room was small, and in just as rough shape as the lavatory. The plaster was cracked and falling off the walls, and in some places even the wooden laths were rotting away. He pulled her over to one of the exposed areas and threw her into the wall hard enough to make her bite through her lip. The coppery taste of blood flooded her mouth, and the pain was almost sharp enough to let her ignore the renewed throbbing in her shoulder. She stayed on her feet, but only barely.

With both her wrists now confined there was much less cable, and now he was tying it onto a branched pipe that would keep it from sliding down. She would be forced to sit with her arms stretched up above her head, putting more strain on her wound. Worse, her body was now making it urgently clear that she should have been more appreciative of the access he’d given her to the toilet. 

“I’m sorry about the pipe, but if you have a longer piece of cable you could tie me to the foot of the tub instead,” she tried bargaining. “Bucky, please! Not out here.”

“You should have behaved,” he told her, his tone just as hard and unyielding as his face. “I warned you not to make me have to force you to.”

“I wasn’t trying to escape, I was trying to get to you so I could help you!” she protested. “You were screaming and moaning, I thought you were being hurt.”

That stilled Bucky’s hands, and he stood there with the knot half tied, head bowed. When he did turn to look at her, he was still angry, but not as vicious as he had been. “You thought I was hurt.” She nodded, and he worked his jaw. “You were trying to… protect me?”

“Of course I was,” she said, gentling her own voice to match the hint of softness that had crept into his. “I was worried about you. I thought perhaps the gunmen had found us. Please. At least allow me to use the lavatory first. Truly, I wasn’t trying to escape.”

It looked like he was fighting some kind of internal battle, and Peggy held her breath. Finally he shuddered and swallowed hard. Unwrapping the cable from the new pipe, he led her back to the water closet. “Two minutes,” he said, shoving her inside.

She didn’t test her luck or his patience by asking him to untie her hands as well. At least he shut the door to give her some privacy, though she was painfully aware that he was standing right on the other side of it. Once she’d done her business she washed her hands, then scooped up some water from the tap to drink as well.

He’d opened the door again when she’d started to run the water, and now stood there sizing her up. Peggy looked back at him, bound hands held before her. She rather thought he had no more idea of what to make of her in that moment than she did of him. 

Personal connection, she had to establish that personal connection.“Was it a nightmare?” There was certainly nothing in the room that should have upset or frightened him, and the sour sweat was typical of a reaction to a bad dream. A _very_ bad dream, and she wished it were harder to imagine what memories might plague his sleep to make him cry out like that.

Bucky shook his head, but his eyes were… fearful? Why would he be afraid of admitting to having a nightmare? Or was it just the memory of the dream itself that had him afraid? 

This time when he took her makeshift leash, he didn’t yank so hard. Peggy followed him obediently, uncertain if it was a good sign or not that he was still removing her from the lavatory. He led her to a different wall this time, with a pipe that had no branches, and after a brief hesitation he unwrapped her injured arm again before he secured her to the pipe.

The loop in the knot was just loose enough to allow it to move up and down the pipe, so when she sank to her knees, she didn’t have to keep her arms raised. Even better, he then fetched the two blankets and returned them to her. 

“Thank you,” she said, and her smile was only a little forced. It felt awful to have to thank him for not hurting and humiliating her, but she needed to encourage and reward any sign of positive behaviour from him.

A strange look crossed Bucky’s face, his lips twitching in a way that wasn’t quite a snarl. Peggy’s heart shattered to pieces when she realized he was trying to smile back at her, and had forgotten how to do it.

Blinking rapidly so she wouldn’t betray herself with tears, she reached out slowly towards his bandaged hand. This time he didn’t pull away, though his eyes narrowed and the twisted attempt at a smile fled as he watched her warily.

Her fingers brushed his wrist and he twitched, but still didn’t move, even when she settled her hand over his more firmly. He was shockingly warm to the touch. Yet another confirmation that he’d been treated with some form of the serum. Steve’s temperature had run higher than normal after the transformation as well, a side effect of his heightened metabolism. 

“It’s all right,” she murmured. “I’m not going to hurt you, Bucky. I told you, I’m not your enemy.”

Slowly the wariness drained away, but in its absence he looked lost and bewildered instead. “I don’t know what to do with you,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “They’re going to be very angry at me for failing my mission. Even more angry at me for not returning like I should have. And _really_ angry at me for killing my handlers.”

Unspoken was the implication that he would be punished severely for those infractions. There was a waver in his voice that told her louder than words could have just _how_ severe those punishments would be.

“Even if I let you go, they’ll only send someone else to kill you,” he continued. “I’ll have gotten in trouble for nothing. I should just kill you and report back, and then at least I’d have finished the mission.”

“But you haven’t,” she said, trying not to show how uneasy his words made her. It was chilling that he could speak about killing her as if he expected her to agree that it was the rational choice to make. “You haven’t, because you don’t want to. It will only matter that you’ve failed to kill me if you go back at all, Bucky. If you don’t go back, they won’t be able to punish you.”

He shuddered and finally withdrew from her touch, curling up on a nest of nearby blankets that was clearly where he’d been sleeping. “They’ll find me. They always find me. They’re always watching.”

“I can protect you,” she coaxed, sensing that he was wavering. “I won’t let them take you again, Bucky, I swear to you. Let’s leave this place, we’ll go to my friends, and I’ll keep you safe.”

For a moment she thought he was going to agree, his gaze haunted as he stared at her. He bit his lip, and she could see that internal conflict raging again.

She wasn't sure which side of him won the argument, but in the end he shook his head. “They’ll find me,” he repeated, and the hopelessness in the simple words broke her heart all over again.

She’d failed Bucky so badly, leaving him in HYDRA’s hands for nearly a decade. That there was no possibility she could have known he’d lived through the fall was little comfort in the face of his suffering.

In an awful way she was grateful that Steve had died back then, because she knew he would _never_ have forgiven himself for what had happened to Bucky if he was here now to see it. She only prayed he would forgive her, when she saw him again in Heaven some day.

As it was, her only way to atone was to help Bucky now, and getting him to allow her to do so was going to be an uphill battle.


	4. Chapter 4

Sleep had become his enemy as much as any target his handlers might send him after. When he was awake he could control his thoughts (most of them) and prevent the worst of his conditioning from kicking in to punish him, but in sleep his mind was not his own. (It was never his own, not any more). 

The dreams haunted and tormented him, twisting him around inside until he couldn’t tell up from down, right from wrong. He dreamed of pain, agonizing pain, over and over and over, while voices told him to do what they wanted, to think what they wanted, to _be_ what they wanted. In real life the pain had stopped when he (gave in) behaved himself, but in the dreams it never ended.

Even the dreams of agony were preferable to the ones where he saw faces, people… all of them making him feel sick and triggering the conditioned pain response for misbehaving. Sometimes they were dying, bloody and mangled and tortured. Sometimes he was the one that made them that way, going through the motions of killing them again and again while he screamed denials as a passenger in his own body.

Sometimes, though, the people were laughing and happy. Sometimes they would talk to him, touch him – clap him on the back, punch him playfully on the shoulder, even pull him into a hug. Those were the ones he hated the most, because they reminded him of what laughter and happiness were, and he would wake with tears drying on his cheeks.

His handlers always punished him when he cried in his sleep. They knew it meant he’d been (remembering) thinking wrong things, and needed to be (broken again) fixed. 

Worst of all, though, were the dreams in the ice. Those dreams went on and on, sluggish but inescapable, and no matter how much he wanted to scream and wake himself up, he couldn’t because his body wouldn’t respond. They inevitably ended in agony, because he only woke when they took him from the ice and that was when they (fucked with his head) gave him his programming, and the process hurt badly.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, he didn’t tend to sleep much if he could avoid it. 

His target (Peggy) didn’t seem to be inclined to sleep any further, either. She was slumped against the wall, huddled in her blankets with her eyes closed, but he could tell from her breathing that she was awake. Every so often he’d catch the glitter of her eyes beneath her lashes, and knew she was watching him. 

He wasn’t really conscious of the fact that he’d been scrutinizing her the whole time until she sighed, opened her eyes, and said, “Perhaps you should take a photograph? Then you may stare as long as you wish.”

Her words brought a curious sort of heat to his cheeks, and he shook his head. “I’m still trying to understand you.”

“Until you accept that I’ve been telling you the truth and HYDRA is lying to you, understanding will unfortunately be a very long time in coming.” 

As they had before, her words sent a spike of pain through him. HYDRA never (always) lied. HYDRA was always (never) right. Their methods were the best (worst) way, the only way, to save humanity from itself. His prime directive was to protect the world from anything that might threaten it, at all costs. (The cost of their ‘protection’ was far too high.) They wouldn’t have ordered him to do that if they were the enemy. (Freedom was more important than safety.) 

This time he managed to suppress the urge to flee from the (truthful) awful things she said, closing his eyes instead and breathing deeply to master the resulting chaos in his mind. 

When he opened his eyes again, his target ( **Peggy** ) was looking at him with a strange twist to her expression (sympathy and horror). What had she seen on _his_ face to provoke that reaction?

She shouldn’t be seeing anything at all. He should be much better than this. Just being near her was eating away at his (HYDRA’s) control, and there was going to be a high cost to pay when he returned to HYDRA. (What if he didn’t go back? What if he let her protect him?)

“You’re obviously not going to sleep any longer,” she said, in that soft, quiet way she had sometimes. He liked it; her voice was soothing, as different from the way his handlers always barked at him as he could imagine. It made him feel... (at peace) calm.

“No.” He hadn’t meant to be brusque, he just didn’t want to talk about the dreams. She was always poking and probing at him. Not like his handlers, not physically, not like she was trying to actually get inside his head (and tear him apart from the inside out). It was more like she was trying to understand him the same way he was trying to understand her. 

(He didn’t want her to understand him, because it would mean she’d see his shame at what he’d become.)

“Why don’t you wash up a bit?” she suggested. Suggestions instead of orders, that was another way she was different from his handlers. “It might make you feel better. I know how awful it can be to wake up in a cold sweat.”

“Wash up?” He wasn’t certain what she was saying, though he felt as if he ought to understand. Realization came at the same time she elaborated.

“The tub seems to be functional. Or at least, the faucet was dripping, so I assume the pipes are working.” She paused, and raised an eyebrow. “Surely they allowed you to clean yourself at some point in the last ten years?”

Now that she’d said it he was suddenly, vilely aware of how filthy he was. It literally hadn’t occurred to him to consider it until that moment. Cleanliness wasn’t among his mission parameters, and nothing beyond those parameters had mattered. If things had gone the way they were supposed to, he’d have made the hit and been back in his handlers’ care in no more than a day or two.

“I forgot,” he admitted, and again that uncomfortable heat prickled at his cheeks. 

The look on her face was too carefully neutral; he knew she was hiding her real reaction. (He wished she’d go ahead and tease him. As long as it was laughter she was hiding, not tears.) He scowled back at her, angry that she was making him feel stupid and uncomfortable.

“You’re just trying to distract me so you can escape,” he accused her, pushing to his feet and taking three steps forward to loom over her. 

She tilted her head to look up at him, and the careful neutrality faded away. What was left behind was pure stubborn cussedness (an expression he knew all too well from..., no, it was still too painful). She wasn’t fearless, he could see that she was afraid, but she was... undaunted. (She always had been the most beautiful when she was focused on a goal.) She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her.

“You were gone for hours earlier, and that didn’t concern you,” she replied tartly. 

“I was right outside on the roof, and I hadn’t stripped off all my weapons,” he retorted. Even as he argued why he shouldn’t do it, he could feel his skin crawling, and he desperately wanted to be clean.

“Bring me in there with you if you’re so concerned, then.” She threw her hands up in exasperation, but the gesture was rendered somewhat ineffective by the way her injury and the cable hampered the motion.

Torn, he debated it. She was right, the smartest thing to do would be to haul her in there with him and tie her to the tub. That way he could keep an eye on her. But the rush of heat on his face was increasing, flooding up into his ears now, and there was a twisting sensation in his gut at the thought. (He couldn’t treat her like that, not St... _his_ best girl.)

“Stay there,” he finally muttered, and turned to go into the bathroom. He left the door open, so he’d be able to hear it if she did somehow manage to break that pipe as well. “ _Don’t_ move, or you’ll regret it when I come out.”

There was no hot water, but compared to the icy coffin he spent so much time in, it was downright temperate. He really didn’t care how comfortable it was, as long as it let him get the filth off. Without soap it took him several minutes of determined scrubbing before he was satisfied, and the water was disgustingly gray when he finally stepped out of the tub.

The old mirror over the sink was cracked and cloudy. He couldn’t get a good look at himself, but he could see enough. Grimacing, he ran a hand over the scraggly beard covering the lower half of his face, and then bent to retrieve his smallest knife from where he’d dumped his gear.

When he stepped out again a few minutes later, he felt... more (like himself) human than he had in a long time. He hadn’t done a perfect job with the shave, and his clothes were still disgusting, but it felt like he could breathe a little easier.

His target ( _Peggy_ , God damn it!) looked up at him, and flashed him a smile. It would have been a bright expression, except it wobbled at the edges and her eyes were unexpectedly sad. “There now, that’s quite an improvement.”

Not wanting to admit she’d been right, he scowled down at her. Then his scowl changed to a frown, as he looked at her in the context of how much better he felt now that he was cleaner.

Her dress was torn and bloody, especially on the back, and the tar from the gravel on the roof had covered both the fabric and her skin in ugly black streaks. The bruises from the fight were blossoming darkly against her pale skin, but it was difficult to tell where they stopped and the dirt began. She had to feel just as bad as he did.

Impulsively, he jerked his head towards the bathroom. “You want a turn?”

She looked startled, and then pleased. But the pleasure drained away a moment later. “Well, that rather depends.”

It did? “On what?” He couldn’t imagine what could possibly make staying dirty the more appealing option.

“On how long exactly you’re planning to hold me here.” She was using that soft voice again, but her eyes were wary, like she was expecting him to react badly. “You must realize you can’t just keep me locked up forever. Daniel is undoubtedly frantic; between him and Howard all of SHIELD has probably been mobilized to search for me.”

That was an excellent question, and one he still didn’t have an answer for. His quandary wasn’t going to resolve itself, unfortunately, but he didn’t know where to start looking for a solution. Obviously, he couldn’t bring himself to kill her. But he couldn’t go back to his handlers without _something_ to mitigate their anger and justify his absence.

(He could still take her option. Go with her - _stay_ with her.)

The voice in his head was starting to sound like the better option. It was always a bad, bad sign when that happened. He inevitably regretted it, deeply. Yet somehow he could never quite seem to stop listening to it entirely, and that meant every once in a while it would convince him to do something stupid.

Going with her would be _very_ stupid.

(Or maybe the smartest thing he’d ever done.)

Before he could even start to decide on his reply there was a crash, and something small came flying in through one of the grimy windows.

Once again he was moving before he’d even consciously registered the threat, flinging himself forward and diving to put his body between her and the grenade. The force of his leap drove her into the wall and wrung a small, pained cry out of her, but if she made any further noise it was lost in the roar of the explosion.

He felt the heat of the fire lick over his back, and the sharp impact of shrapnel in several places. Distantly he was aware that he was going to be in pain when the fight was over, but for now adrenaline and his training masked the symptoms of the injuries.

Louder crashes marked the entrance of several men, each aiming a gun in his direction. The uniforms were unmistakably HYDRA, and they were shouting in German and Russian for him to get out of the way and stand down. He suspected they’d made sure to display their allegiance clearly so he wouldn’t fight back without realizing who they were, like on the rooftop.

Unfortunately, the ploy would work. They were his handlers, he _could not_ bring himself to attack them. Not knowing how much trouble he was already in, and how much worse it would be if he attacked now when he didn’t have the excuse of ignorance.

Ducking his head, he met Peggy’s eyes. “Right thigh,” he murmured, far too quietly for the approaching men to hear.

Amazing creature that she was, she didn’t even hesitate. She drew the gun from the holster on his right leg, lifted and fired it all in one smooth motion. She had to use her injured arm, but it was his smallest and lightest pistol and he heard more than one pained cry from behind him.

While she provided covering fire, he quickly untied the cable on her good arm. Without needing any prompting from him she dropped the now spent gun and pulled the bigger one from the primary holster under his arm. Using his metal shoulder to help steady her hands, she squeezed off another half dozen rounds, the sound of gunfire deafening only inches from his ear.

It felt... right. Indescribably right, as though a huge weight had been lifted off his chest, to be fighting at Peggy’s side. Even if he wasn’t technically doing much fighting at the moment. She was a thing of beauty, ruthless and relentless, a warrior princess no man could ever truly tame.

(No _real_ man would ever try. She was perfect just as she was. It wasn’t at all difficult to figure out what St... _he_ had seen in her.)

He had to keep his eyes locked on her, because if he actually saw his handlers being hurt his conditioning would surely kick in, and he’d be forced to defend them. Even this much was more than he should have been able to ignore, but she’d been wearing away at his (brainwashing) defenses since the moment he’d first seen her, and especially since he’d brought her here.

The ringing in his ears was too loud for him to make out much, but when there hadn’t been another shot fired for at least a minute he dared to look around. Peggy was slumped against the wall, panting and looking a little shell-shocked herself. Her lips moved, but he shook his head to indicate that he couldn’t hear properly, and she grimaced and tapped at her own ear in response.

Their partial deafness was inconvenient, but temporary. The gun had been far enough from her ears that she should recover, and his enhanced healing meant he would as well.

Standing was more of a challenge than it should have been; those shrapnel wounds were starting to make themselves felt. He didn’t see any fresh blood on Peggy, though, so it had been worth it. When he turned he found three men sprawled out over the floor. Two of them were clearly dead, one with a bullet in his temple and the other with two holes in his chest over his heart.

The third was still moving, flailing weakly to try to reach the gun he’d dropped. Peggy moved forward to kick the gun away, then trained her own weapon at the man’s head. She looked back over her shoulder, a question written on her face, and reluctantly he turned away again.

(He wished he could watch her finish the bastard off.)

Already his hearing was returning, the ringing fading slowly and allowing him to make out other sounds. The first thing he heard was her voice, faint rather than soft, but with that gentle tone he liked so much.

“Are you all right?” She moved around until they were face to face, and he saw only concern in her expression. She didn’t even attempt to turn the weapon she still held on him. “Bucky?”

“I’m fine,” he rasped, and shook his head to try to clear it. “I wasn’t sure you’d know what I meant, but I didn’t want to warn them.”

She grinned up at him with her eyes shining, every inch the spitfire. “As a matter of fact, I was already planning to go for your weapons. You just told me which gun would be best to use first.”

He laughed, and he wasn’t sure which of them was more startled by it. The sound was rusty, hoarse like a crow’s caw, but it was the first genuine amusement he could remember feeling in... ever. 

Looking back at the bodies sobered him fast, though. “We can’t stay here. They’ll send more men. I told you they’d find me.”

“Then we need to go somewhere they _can’t_ find you,” she said firmly. She reached out to touch his flesh shoulder, and he stood still and let her, even though having her so close made him twitchy. The touch was... nice. It made him feel connected to her, and that was nice, too.

(He was so, _so_ very fucked when HYDRA did catch him again. ‘Nice’ was not something he was supposed to be aware of, let alone experiencing.)

That thought was what finally made up his mind for him. He didn’t want to have to stop feeling good things, and that meant he needed to stay away from his handlers as long as possible. He knew he’d pay for it in the end, but he thought it just might be worth it.

“All right. I’ll go with you.” Hesitant, he reached out and touched her in return, brushing his fingers over her cheek. 

She smiled at him again and leaned into the touch briefly, then drew away to give them both their space. “Then let’s find a phone, preferably one that’s not too public. I need to make a few calls.”


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky was remarkably docile as he led her down to street level and through the back alleys. So much so that Peggy grew worried, fearing it was only a precursor to one of his unpredictable mood swings. The bad moods seemed to be proportionate to the good ones, and in some ways this was the best she’d seen yet.

They were both an absolute horror, her with her dress destroyed and bloody, him with his metal arm exposed and singed fabric revealing the burns and shrapnel wounds on his back. She’d cut holes in two of the blankets and draped them like ponchos over both of them, covering the worst of it, but it wouldn’t hold up to any kind of close inspection. Thankfully he was able to find a public phone tucked away in a nook just off a quiet street, where they wouldn’t draw too much attention.

By some miracle he’d brought her purse when he carried her to his hideaway, which meant she didn’t have to beg a passerby for a coin for the phone. She dialed the number for SHIELD’s new headquarters from memory, and waited impatiently until one of the clerks picked up. “Put me through to Stark immediately, this is Agent...”

A crunching noise cut her off, and the line went dead. Stunned, Peggy stared at the ruins of the phone, crushed far beyond repair by the fist Bucky had just driven into it. “What... why did you...”

The words dried up in her throat when she got a good look at the fury in his eyes. Here was the mood swing she’d feared, and also as she’d feared, it looked like it might be the worst one so far.

“You bitch,” he snarled, stepping forward to crowd her into the wall. “You’re trying to betray me.” He punched out again, metal fist disintegrating the brick just beside her head, and Peggy barely stopped herself from flinching.

“Bucky, I don’t understand,” she said, her voice as calm and level as she could make it. “This was the plan. I call my people and we get you to safety, away from HYDRA. Remember?”

“You don’t want to help me. You just don’t want HYDRA to have me.” The growl in his voice sounded like it should have come from a wild animal, not a human being. “You’re going to turn me over to SHIELD and use me as your weapon, instead.”

Too late, Peggy realized that was exactly how it must look to Bucky, and she’d never said just who it was she planned to call for help. He had no reason at all to trust SHIELD, and every reason possible to distrust it. Even aside from the fact that HYDRA had probably conditioned him to think of them as the enemy, just as he’d thought of her as an enemy.

“No one there is going to hurt you or control you, Bucky,” she insisted. “They’re not a threat to you, any more than I am.”

“Either you’re lying, or you’re naive,” he retorted. “Once they have me, they won’t give up an asset like that, and you won’t have a damned thing to say about it.”

Was she being naive? Possibly. SHIELD was nominally under her control, but the simple fact was that she had people she answered to, as well. She had only to think of how the precious gift of Steve’s blood had been squandered to know that greedy, power-hungry people might view Bucky as a second chance to get what they wanted.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Thankfully, her easy capitulation eased the fury in his eyes, and he drew his fist away from the wall again. “That does leave us in a bit of a quandary. We still need to get you out of sight, and without SHIELD’s resources...”

She trailed off as she considered the problem, tapping her nails against the useless phone receiver she still held. “There is one person I believe we can trust for help. He’s an old friend, and he has considerable assets at his disposal.”

“Stark?” he asked, eyes narrowed, and Peggy laughed.

“God, no. He’d be the first in line to poke at you, though he’d be kinder about it than the others out of respect for your friendship. I care deeply for Howard, but I trust him about as far as I can see him. He gets too easily carried away when he’s enthusiastic about something.” 

The thought of Howard’s reaction to seeing Bucky was both disturbing and amusing. She was looking forward to him finding out that Bucky had survived, but not until their old friend was feeling a little more secure in himself.

“Unfortunately, that was my only coin. I have some cash, but that wouldn’t help even if you hadn’t destroyed the phone. There’s nothing for it, I’m afraid. We’ll have to risk a cab.”

Flagging one down was easy enough, once she got Bucky to hide while she made the attempt. The cab driver was wide-eyed when he got a good look at her, and started to protest when Bucky stepped out of the alley to climb in as well. Peggy handed up all the cash she had on her, a good deal more than the ride would require, and he appeared to rethink his objections.

The ride seemed interminable. Bucky was clearly nervous from the moment the door closed behind him, gripping the door handle so tightly Peggy could hear it creak, even though it was his flesh hand. He only grew more tense as time went on, and Peggy was deathly afraid it might end in one of his outbursts while they were still in the cab.

Reaching out, Peggy set her hand lightly on his knee, not certain if he’d feel it if she touched his metal-covered hand. He jerked and swung around to face her, eyes wild and teeth bared, but she kept her eyes steady on his and after a long moment he relaxed a little. His shoulders drooped and his gaze fell to her hand on his leg. Shortly before they arrived, he even let go of the door and covered her hand tentatively with his bare one.

The feel of his hand on hers, warm and callused and so exquisitely gentle because he didn’t want to misjudge his strength and hurt her... it made her breath catch in her throat with a slew of memories. Steve had touched her like that, especially in the beginning. As if he expected her to object, and couldn’t believe his good fortune when she didn’t. 

She hated to have to pull away, but the need to find a safe place for them both was more imperative. After stepping out of the cab she pulled a business card out of her purse, offering it to the driver. “If anyone approaches you and tries to bribe you into revealing whether you picked us up and where you took us, give them a false location and contact the number on this card. My people will pay you twice what you got from the first bribe.”

His eyes lit up, and she knew he’d follow her orders. The true information could still be tortured out of him if their pursuers didn’t believe his lie, of course, but it was the best she could do on short notice.

Hustling Bucky up the walkway, she ignored the path that led to the large, ostentatious mansion door and directed him around the side path instead. The quaint ‘little’ cottage at the back was larger than many people’s homes, but compared to the main building it might as well have been a shack.

After a moment’s thought Peggy pointed Bucky at a spot between the cottage and a garden hedge, hidden in shadows but still within earshot of the door so he’d know she wasn’t trying to double cross him. He gave her a suspicious look and pulled one of his many pistols, but kept it held low at his side as he took the place she’d indicated.

Taking a deep breath, she rang the doorbell. Footsteps approached and a moment later the door swung open. “Mrs. Sousa!” Jarvis exclaimed, clearly shocked to see her. “My God, what on earth are you doing here? The whole city is looking for you. Mr. Stark isn’t in, of course, he’s coordinating the search efforts...”

“I’m not looking for Howard, Mr. Jarvis; it’s you I’m here to see,” she cut him off. “I’m afraid I haven’t much time. I need your help.”

“Of course,” he said immediately. “Whatever I can do.”

“I need a safe location, preferably out of the city, where I won’t be disturbed.” Peggy thought about that for a moment, then added, “Actually, it would be best if you give me several options. That way if you’re questioned, you can truthfully say you don’t know where I am. I’ll need transportation as well.”

“Surely if you’re in danger, Mr. Stark would be better equipped to help you,” Jarvis said, frowning.

“Not in this case.” Peggy kept her voice firm, but she implored him with her eyes. “I realize this is an imposition and I apologize, but I trust your discretion far more than I trust Howard’s.”

“Yes. Well.” Jarvis cleared his throat, and couldn’t seem to think of an argument for that. “As I said, whatever I can do. Would you, ah, like to come in and refresh yourself whilst I make the arrangements?”

Biting her lip, Peggy considered that. She did very much want to be clean, and they’d attract far less attention if she needed to stop for supplies on the way. Perhaps sensing her conflict, Jarvis coaxed, “I believe something of my wife’s could be made to fit you, and for your sake I’m willing to risk her displeasure over the loan.”

“Go to the main house to make the calls,” she finally said. “Knock when you come back. Under no circumstances enter without warning, do you understand?”

“Yes, of course.” Jarvis inclined his head in an abbreviated bow and stepped out of his house, leaving the door open behind him. “Mrs. Jarvis is out to market, so you’ll have it to yourself for the duration. I’ll ensure she doesn’t come in if she does return.”

Not for the first time, Peggy silently blessed the man. Not a single question, and quite likely he wasn’t even allowing himself to ponder the possible reasons for her odd request, yet he was doing his best to anticipate her needs. Small wonder Howard literally couldn’t do without him.

Waiting until Jarvis had crossed the lawn and entered the main house, she counted to sixty and then waved Bucky out of his hiding spot. He flowed from the shadows like he belonged among them and they were reluctant to let him go, moving around the corner and into the cottage faster than should have been possible.

Peggy shut the door behind them, and wasn’t surprised when Bucky immediately began to reconnoitre the house, ensuring that they were indeed alone and safe. She left him to it, knowing better than to try to interfere before his quite justifiable paranoia was appeased. For that matter, the only reason she wasn’t doing her own rounds was that she trusted him to handle it.

“How bad are your injuries?” she asked. “If you heal anything like... if you heal quickly, they might close up with shrapnel still in the wounds. I should clean them, if you’ll trust me at your back.”

He gave her a long, considering look, and surprised her when he nodded. He stripped out of his poncho, shirt, and the weapons gear that crossed his torso, leaving his pants and lower gear. Under other circumstances, Peggy would have been amused to realize just how _many_ weapons he was carrying.

She found a metal kit with the familiar red caduceus on a white circle emblazoned on the top, and discovered it was more than adequately stocked. Well, Jarvis had been a soldier before the incident that had culminated in Howard hiring him, so it wasn’t really surprising.

With Bucky sitting backwards on one of the kitchen chairs, Peggy was able to use a pair of tweezers to pick the shards of metal out of his back. As she’d predicted some of the wounds had already started to heal over, and she had to borrow a knife to reopen them. He gripped the back of the chair so tightly the knuckles of his flesh hand went white, but thankfully didn’t break it off.

“You’re being very quiet,” she commented, trying to distract him. “I don’t think you’ve said a word since we left the telephone.”

He worked his jaw a couple of times, and his voice was gruff when he did answer. “Fighting my training. Disobeying orders and going AWOL is...”

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t really need to. She’d already seen plenty of evidence for herself of how difficult it was for him to think outside the conditioning HYDRA had forced on him. That he was managing at all spoke to his considerable strength of will. Steve wasn’t the only one of the pair more stubborn than was always good for him, but in this case it was definitely a positive.

When she was finished tending his wounds she put a hand lightly on his right shoulder. He tensed and braced himself like he expected pain, but when she did nothing further he lifted his hand to touch hers. “Why do you keep doing that?” he asked, and she could hear the bafflement in his voice.

“For comfort, and reassurance,” she told him. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” His response was gratifyingly fast, and he squeezed her hand a little harder. “No, it’s... I just wanted to know.”

“Go wash the worst of the blood off in the kitchen sink, and see if you can find one of Mr. Jarvis’ shirts that fits you.” She considered the breadth of his shoulders and the muscles in his arms, and sighed. “It’s likely a fruitless endeavour, but we won’t know if we don’t make the effort. I believe the Jarvis residence is equipped with a shower, so I’m going to clean up quickly and change. I’ll be back shortly. _Don’t leave_. And if anyone knocks, come get me, don’t answer it.”

“I’m not an idiot,” he muttered, scowling as he stood and turned to look down at her. “I know how to run an operation, and I know you don’t want them to see me.”

Properly chastened, Peggy nodded. He was such an odd mix of bewildered waif and experienced soldier, it was hard to predict what she did and didn’t need to tell him. Yes, he’d forgotten to wash, probably because it hadn’t been among the instructions from his handlers, but there was a difference between an oversight and stupidity. She had no call to treat him like a child, and irritating him would get her nowhere fast.

Apparently satisfied with her acknowledgement, he moved to go to the sink as she’d suggested. He wouldn’t be able to get it all by himself, but they were short on time and Peggy needed to wash as well.

It might have been the fastest shower she’d ever taken in her life, and she was grateful they had the contraption installed so she didn’t have to draw a bath instead. She’d brought the field kit in with her, and was able to change out the bandage on her shoulder without having to call for Bucky’s help. 

It turned out that Mrs. Jarvis wasn’t all that far from Peggy in size, but of course she didn’t own any trousers. Peggy had to settle for a light skirt that was wide enough to allow her to run if needed, and a blouse. Unfashionable, perhaps, but that was the least of her concerns at the moment.

As she was doing up the last button, she heard the sound of knocking at the front door. The bedroom door swung wide a moment later, Bucky coming to fetch her, and Peggy nodded to show she’d heard it already. The temptation to order him to stay out of sight was strong, but she swallowed it down with the memory of his earlier reaction. 

The knock came again, and she hurried out to the front door. When she unlocked it and swung it open, however, it wasn’t Jarvis who stood on the other side of it.

“Peggy!” Daniel exclaimed, and dropped his crutch to the ground in order to sweep her up into a tight hug. “Thank God, you’re okay! I’ve been worried sick, what happened? Why didn’t you come home to me if you needed help? I practically had to threaten to shoot Jarvis to get him to admit you were still here.”

“He called you to reassure you I was all right,” she realized with a sigh, but she hugged him back just as tightly. She’d been debating whether or not to ask Jarvis to do exactly that, but hadn’t yet made up her mind. Apparently, he’d made it for her. At least Bucky hadn’t come barrelling out with accusations of betrayal when he heard the unfamiliar voice.

“What the hell is going on, Peg?” Daniel pulled back and held her at arm’s length, his sharp eyes taking in the bruises revealed by her shower and the clothes that were clearly not her own. “I heard the gunshots, and we found signs of a scuffle on the roof across from the restaurant, but there was no trace of you.”

“It’s a long story, and I’m afraid I simply can’t explain it at the moment.” Peggy shrugged, a little helplessly. She detested having to stonewall Daniel, but if she was going to keep Bucky safe she couldn’t afford for anyone to know about him. Not even her husband. There was an old saying, that a secret only stayed a secret until a second person learned it. It wasn’t that she thought he’d betray her, but every person who knew increased the chances of a slip exponentially.

“Jarvis said you were leaving the city,” Daniel said, thus proving the axiom. Peggy rolled her eyes, but there was no point in admonishing Jarvis now. Discreet he might be, but he’d obviously assumed that she hadn’t intended the restriction to include her husband.

She was going to have to provide some elaboration, or Daniel would dig his heels in and argue with her for far too long. “The person who was following me turned out to be... well, he’s an old, dear friend, and he’s in a very great deal of trouble. I need to get him out of the city and to a secure location as quickly as possible, and I’m going to need to stay with him to ensure he remains safe. I’m sorry, darling. I don't know when I'll be coming home, and I need you not to tell anyone that you’ve seen me. I can’t trust even SHIELD with this, not yet.”

He let her go completely, leaning against the doorjamb rather than bending to retrieve his crutch. His expression was a mix of hurt, resignation, and something else she couldn’t read. “It’s Rogers, isn’t it? He survived after all.”

“What?” Peggy stared at him, flummoxed. How on earth had he come to that conclusion?

“I know you too well, Peg. The look on your face... this is someone you really care about. Enough to let everyone else stay worried that you’ve been kidnapped or killed, to let _me_ stay worried. Enough to keep you from trusting anyone, even Jarvis. Even me. There’s only one person I know of that you’d choose over me.”

She had to close her eyes for a moment against the wave of longing that swept over her. If only it were true. She was overjoyed that Bucky was alive, even as she was horrified at what had been done to him, but Steve... God, if Steve were alive...

“As much as that would admittedly complicate my personal life, I wish it were the case,” she said, her voice husky. She opened her eyes again and met his squarely. “The world was a better place with him in it, and not just for me. It is another of the 107th, and you know I’d give my life for any of them.”

It was clear that he didn’t entirely believe her. He raked his hand through his hair, studying her with a frown. At last he sighed. “The problem with being married to one of the best spies in the world is, you can never tell when she’s lying.” Peggy started to protest, but he laid a finger over her lips to silence her. “I came to terms with that a long time ago, Peg, before I ever offered you that ring. Truth or lie, it doesn’t matter. I _trust_ you. I know you wouldn’t lie to me for nothing.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” she murmured from beneath his finger, and he gave her a pained smile that matched the way her heart was squeezing.

“God only knows, sweetheart. Musta been pretty bad, ‘cause you sure as heck could do better. You do what you’ve gotta do, Peggy. _Whatever_ you’ve gotta do. Just promise you’ll come back to me, when it’s over.”

“I promise,” she declared, and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed him soundly, and he embraced her just as warmly in return.

“Never doubt that I love you, Daniel,” she said when she finally forced herself to step back. “Even if it were Steve, that wouldn’t change.”

“I know it,” he agreed, and finally retrieved his crutch. “I’m gonna get back to the search efforts. I’ll keep ‘em off your trail as long as I can. Jarvis said to tell you there’s a car waiting out at the back, with the keys and a list of locations. Good luck, and stay safe.”

“Same to you,” she whispered, and closed the door so she wouldn’t have to watch him walk away. Superstition, perhaps, but it was bad luck to watch a loved one go until they were out of sight.

When she turned she found Bucky in the doorway that led to the bedroom, frowning at her. He’d located a sweater that just barely fit him, the knitted fabric stretching over his muscles until it looked painted on. “That was your husband.”

“Yes it was, and it wasn’t my intention that he know about this just yet, but what’s done is done.” Peggy shrugged. “He won’t betray us. Pack your gear, we need to leave as soon as possible.”

Bucky was still scowling. She wasn’t sure if he didn’t trust her assurances that Daniel wouldn’t cause any problems, or if something else was bothering him, but there wasn’t much she could do about it at the moment. 

All she _could_ do was get them both safe, and help him recover as much of himself as was possible... and pray that would be enough.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep wondering whether I should add a warning for domestic violence to the tags for this. It kind of isn't, in that Bucky actually has some damned good reasons for his actions and is no way way blaming Peggy, and he's working towards improving. Nor does she react to it as a battered woman. On the other hand abuse is abuse and there are no excuses. He's now treating her badly even though he cares for her, as opposed to the previous chapters where he was treating her badly because she was an enemy. If that's a trigger you're sensitive to, be aware that from this point on it could definitely read that way. 
> 
> Domestic violence is a a horrifying thing that is very much a live issue in today's society. If you are experiencing any form of abuse, physical or emotional, please reach out for help. In Canada and the US there are women's shelters, transition houses, and community services available to support you. I'm not familiar with the system in other countries, but regardless of where you are, I hope there are resources for you to turn to.

The difference that a month of peace and quiet made in Bucky’s demeanour was remarkable. He responded readily to his name now, and had stopped flinching when she used it, though she could still see the shadow of pain in his eyes each time. He called _her_ by name, which in some ways was an even bigger improvement. Most of his weapons lay stashed in various locations around the hunting cabin, in places where he could get at them easily in case of need, but no longer kept obsessively within reach. When she sang him to sleep with a lullaby - something he’d insisted on after the first time she’d done it out of desperation, much to her continued embarrassment - he could now rest for as much as two hours before the horrid nightmares began.

‘Better’ was still far from ‘cured’, however. The unpredictable mood swings continued, and the cabin had collected quite a bit of damage along the way when he turned violent. So far he’d never hurt her worse than bruises, but he’d thrown her into just about every wall in the building, and once even punched her. With his flesh hand, thank God, but it was only good luck that she hadn’t ended up with broken ribs.

Any mention of the Commandos would upset him, though at least that upset was now sometimes expressed in simple anger and not always aggression. God help her if she said too many negative things about HYDRA in a short space of time, or worse, enticed him into doing so. Only once had Peggy attempted to bring up Steve again, and that was when he’d punched her. It was clear that memories of his best friend were the ones he’d been forced most harshly to forget. And the way he screamed when his nightmares did inevitably come would haunt her to her grave.

Watching him improve day by day, step by slow step, was as heartbreaking as it was heartening. The battle he had to fight with himself for every tiny bit of progress said more than words ever could about what HYDRA had done to him. Peggy ached with the knowledge, even as she was fiercely proud of how far he’d come and how hard he was fighting.

Touch, particularly any form of physical affection, had become a very important link between them. Sometimes she could head off an incipient bad spell if she reached out to him at just the right moment. When he was already in a good mood he welcomed her presence, even allowing her to wrap her arms around him in a hug or sit behind him and ease the tension in his back with a massage. He slept best when she let him curl up next to her and put his head in her lap, her hand carding through his hair as she sang softly.

And that was where things started getting complicated for Peggy. She already cared for him, as she did for all the Commandos. She’d never known him as well as Steve, of course. During the war Bucky had always been polite and charming, even tried to flirt with her on occasion, but he of all the 107th seemed most aware of how little time Steve and Peggy had together. Every chance he got he would give them a wink and leave them to themselves, covering for them to let them have just a few more minutes alone. As a result, she hadn’t really spent all that much time with him.

Most of what she truly knew about him, she’d learned after his death. Steve might not have been able to get drunk while he mourned, but he’d poured his heart out to Peggy that night in the bombed out bar, talking for hours about all the good and bad things about his best friend, and everything the other man had meant to him. Discovering that Bucky was alive had been a precious gift to Peggy because it would have been an even more precious gift to Steve.

Now, as she watched Bucky rediscover who he was, her respect and admiration for him had nothing to do with Steve’s feelings and everything to do with her own. It grew increasingly difficult for Peggy to convince herself that those feelings were entirely platonic. Attraction was only natural, of course, with the two of them alone together through such an emotionally charged experience, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier for her to ignore the thoughts and feelings he engendered.

Her saving grace was that Bucky clearly regarded her as innocently as he would a sister. She wasn’t sure if he’d lost the skill of flirting along with so much of the rest of himself, or if he just wasn’t using it on her, though she suspected it was more of the former than the latter. In fact, if he had any sexual urges at all she’d seen no evidence of it, which worried her somewhat but she’d decided it was truly the least of his problems.

And so she continued to offer touch and affection whenever he would accept it, and was grateful he was clearly growing more comfortable with it. As she rubbed his back one night he surprised her by turning his head and frowning at her for a moment, then asking, “Should I be doing this for you, too? Doesn’t seem very fair, you always being the one to make me feel good.”

“Well, I’m not the one so tense my muscles could be mistaken for piano wire,” she teased, smiling back at him. This had been his best day so far, not a single violent episode and only a few outbursts of temper. That it occurred to him to consider the equality of their relationship was a huge step forward.

“Still.” He got that particular set to his jaw that said he was about to be stubborn. It was an expression so similar to the mulish look Steve would sometimes get, she wondered which of them had picked it up from the other. “Come around front, it’s your turn.”

Hesitating, Peggy considered her options. On the one side, while Bucky did usually return her touch in some fashion, it was never more than a light brush of his skin against hers and he rarely initiated the contact. For him to volunteer something like this was unheard of, and should be rewarded. On the other side, well... putting her hands all over his unclothed back made it difficult enough for her to maintain the appropriate emotional distance. Having him touch her would be asking for trouble.

Apparently tired of waiting for her to make a decision, Bucky pushed to his feet and walked around to sit behind her. They’d pulled the couch cushions onto the floor - his idea, and she hadn’t objected since it seemed to put him at ease for some reason, and it did make it easier for her to comfortably reach his back.

He settled his right hand on her shoulder, big and warm and oh-so-gentle. It didn’t surprise her that he chose to use only the one hand. His metal arm was a marvel of technology that she knew Howard would give his eyeteeth to get a close look at, but Bucky had told her he didn’t have much in the way of sensory feedback beyond what was necessary to allow him to hold and use a weapon. Without being able to really feel the pressure he was using, he might well hurt her.

Closing her eyes, Peggy gave in and told herself it was just a necessary step on his path to recovery. At least he hadn’t expected her to remove her blouse. As he moved down over her back his motions were closer to stroking than rubbing, and she had to suppress a shiver. 

“You can be a little harder,” she murmured, and sighed when he obligingly dug his fingers in. She hadn’t realized how tense she actually was, though she was still far better off than his usual state. 

For long minutes he worked over her back and shoulders, until she was relaxed and swaying into his touch despite herself. Her back had always been a weak spot, somewhere she very much enjoyed being caressed. When he finally rested his hand on her shoulder and didn’t move again, she had to bite down hard on a moan of disappointment.

“Peggy?” His voice was a deep rumble at her back, and he sounded uncertain. Was he worried that he hadn’t done a good job, or hurt her somehow?

She opened her eyes and shifted around until she could see him. His hand fell from her in the process, coming to rest in his lap where he clenched it around his metal one. His expression was... tormented, that was the only word she could think of to describe it. “Bucky? What is it?”

“Where...” He took a deep breath and seemed to struggle with himself to get the next words out. “Where’s Steve?”

Astonished, she stared at him, half expecting him to lash out in response to his own query. He stayed still, though she saw his hand tighten against the metal. “That’s the first time you’ve said his name,” she murmured, afraid of breaking his fragile control by speaking but not wanting him to think she was unwilling to answer.

Even though she very much didn’t want to. She’d been trying to come up with a good way to break this news to him from the moment she’d realized he wasn't aware of it, and she hadn’t found an answer yet. What it would do to his emotional control and his state of mind, she had no idea.

“It still hurts,” he admitted, and she could hear the rasp in his voice from the pain he felt. “I can’t... it’s only ‘cause I’m so relaxed. Don’t say it again. But I need to know.” He looked down at her, his eyes dark. “You’re married to someone else... I’m sure Sousa’s a swell guy and all, but... and even if you and him called it quits, you’d have let him know about me. Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course I would,” she said through a throat gone tight. She managed to keep the tears out of her eyes, but they were lurking, ready to burst through her control at any moment. Even now, years later, she still couldn’t think of Steve’s death without reacting this way. At least she rarely allowed the tears to fall, anymore. In the beginning she’d cried herself to sleep for weeks straight, the only time she was alone and could allow herself the weakness of grief.

“Then he’d be here,” Bucky said with conviction. “If you told him I was alive, he’d be here. Nothing on Earth would stop him.”

He already knew, she thought. He knew, but he was hoping he was wrong, and fighting his conditioning with everything he had to find out the answer. She wished she could give him the one he wanted, and not the one he was expecting. “He died.”

That was all she could get out, the rest of the explanation caught behind the lump in her throat. Just two simple words, but she could see the way they destroyed him. His face crumpled and he bit his lip hard, lowering his eyes to where his fists were clenched in his lap. “How?”

For once it was Peggy who had to fight for control, and the first of the tears slipped free despite her best efforts. “During the war. He defeated the Red Skull, but the battle left him trapped on a badly damaged plane loaded with powerful bombs. In order to prevent a lot of people being killed, he chose to put the plane into the water.”

“Are you _sure_ he died?” Bucky demanded, looking up at her again. “How can you know? You can’t have been there. You were positive I was dead, too.”

“I was with him on the radio,” she whispered. She had to close her eyes to continue, the anguish on his face drawing forth her own pain no matter how she fought it. “I couldn’t let him die alone. I heard the crash, it stopped him mid-word. We never found the wreckage, but there’s no doubt, Bucky. He’s gone.”

Never, _never_ could she think about that conversation without crying. The tears flowed down her cheeks, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. She’d gone to the Stork Club at the appointed time, knowing it was impossible but some part of her hoping, praying for a miracle. It was the first and only promise to her that Steve had ever broken. She’d broken her word to him as well, her vow that they would have time to be together after the war hanging on her heart like a weight.

A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, and Bucky tugged her back towards him. Startled, she let him pull her in and ended up half across his lap with her head tucked into his right shoulder. He was shaking... with emotion, she realized when she glanced up at him. He was crying, too; she’d rarely seen him cry despite the worst nightmares, and when he did he always reacted to her noticing like he expected punishment.

But now he gathered her to him, offering her the same comfort she’d given him so many times over the last month. The tenderness in the way he held her broke through the last of her reserve, and for the first time in far too long, Peggy let herself truly grieve for her lost love.

She’d thought that she’d moved past Steve, truly she had. She’d let go years ago, when she’d poured the last of his blood into the Hudson so it could never be misused - and so she wouldn’t have anything left to cling to. She could go weeks at a time without thinking of him, and it rarely hurt anymore when she did. He was a precious memory, but not a part of her life any longer.

Now, with the rawness of Bucky’s grief pulling hers to the surface, she discovered that though the wound in her heart had scabbed over it had never truly healed. For the first time she cried _with_ someone, someone who had loved Steve at least as much as she had.

It was cathartic. She’d never believed that grief shared was grief halved. It hadn’t made her feel any better to watch the rest of the Commandos mourning their captain and friend. Yet now it felt like lancing a boil; painful, but some of the pressure was eased in the process. She only hoped Bucky could find some measure of release as well.

“I waited for him,” Bucky murmured some time later. “I remember waiting, now. Just one more day, every day I told myself, just hang on one more day and he’ll come for you. He won’t leave you here. Just one more day. But he never did. And then one day I forgot to tell myself.”

“Oh God, Bucky.” Her voice cracked, and her chest hurt so much she couldn’t breathe. Any sense of relief she’d felt in their shared grief had been wiped away by his words. How long had it taken, before they broke him? How many days had he told himself to hold on, over and over, waiting for a rescue that would never come? “God, I’m so sorry. I swear to you, if we’d had any idea...”

“I know,” he assured her. “It’s okay, Peggy. I know. And you did rescue me. You’re doing it right now. So don’t blame yourself.”

Easier said than done, but the reminder that she hadn’t failed him utterly was something for _her_ to hold on to. She looked up at him and managed a weak smile. 

Bucky lifted his hand and ran one finger delicately along her cheek, the metal cold against her skin - wiping away her tears, she realized when he lifted his hand away. He looked at it for a moment, then brushed his finger over his lips, like he wanted to taste her grief.

Suddenly she found it hard to breathe for an entirely different reason. The gesture was simultaneously innocent and intimate, and it struck her straight through the heart. He didn’t miss her reaction; his eyes flicked up to meet hers, and whatever he saw there seemed to startle him.

When she’d reminded him of the concept of being clean it was as if a switch had flipped in his brain, and she’d _seen_ realization sweep over him. One moment it simply wasn’t a consideration, and the next it was all he could think about. She watched the same thing happen again now, but this time his response to the reminder wasn’t disgust or embarrassment. It was pure, intense, extremely male heat.

Bucky had just remembered the concept of sexual attraction. And Peggy knew she was lost.

If she’d thought the touch of his hand was warm, it was nothing compared to the heat of his mouth when he slanted it over hers. She could taste his desperation, and the passion that consumed him with the ferocity of a bonfire. It was as if the desire she’d felt had been present for him as well, bottled up beneath his ignorance of it, and now it was all rushing to the surface at once.

For all his wildness there was considerable skill in his kiss. He’d been quite the flirt during the war, with a different girl on his arm every night they had leave. Even if he didn’t recall it consciously, his body clearly hadn’t forgotten. His tongue teased at her lips until she opened for him, then met hers in a duel that made her heart race. 

She lifted her hands, tracing over his face, feeling the sharp planes of his cheeks and the slight rasp of stubble on his jaw. Bucky shifted so his metal arm supported her back, pulling her close and sliding his other hand up to grasp a fistful of hair at the base of her neck. He used the hold to tilt her head back, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth down over her jaw and throat.

“Bucky...” The name came out as a whisper, almost a prayer. He put more pressure on her back, coaxing her to arch her spine, the posture opening her throat further and pressing her breasts tightly against his chest. Her nipples were stiff peaks against the satin of her corselette, making her shiver as each breath moved the sensitive nubs against the fabric. It felt good, but the only thought in her head was that it would feel so much better without the clothing in the way, his or hers.

He eased her down until she was lying flat on the cushions, lifting himself away from her and bracing his weight on his metal arm. She understood why he’d pulled back when his eyes trailed over her, pupils so blown with arousal his iris was only a blue line around the edge. The weight of his gaze was almost palpable, and the heat in his expression was setting her on fire as well, but it was the joyous wonder in his eyes as he rediscovered pleasure that tugged at her heart.

With his right hand Bucky traced the contours of her body, cupping her breast briefly before drifting further down. Peggy let herself drown in him, savouring the taste and scent and feel of his body. He made small noises, just shy of being moans, as she let her hands wander over his back and sides. She avoided the thick ridge of flesh where his metal arm joined the rest of his body - he always flinched when she touched it. That was far from the only scar Bucky carried, however; just the worst. Her fingertips found plenty of other evidence of the living Hell he’d been through.

He shifted to one side so he could reach more of her body, and the move pressed the hard length of him against her thigh. This time he did moan and rocked against her again, and again, pace increasing rapidly. “Easy,” she murmured, catching his waist in her hands and stilling the motion of his hips. “Take it slow and you’ll enjoy it more, I promise.”

“Sorry,” Bucky panted. “Sorry, I know. I think I know. It just feels so good.” His struggle for control was obvious, but for once it wasn’t violence or anger he was fighting against.

“Yes, it does,” Peggy replied, and refused to allow herself to think about anything beyond the moment. 

He moved his hand down further, finding the hem of her knee-length skirt and slipping beneath it, then sliding slowly up her inner thigh. He paused when he reached the top of her stocking, playing with the contrast of the lace against her smooth skin. It was her turn to pant for air and fight the urge to squirm. Bucky’s fingers were rough and callused, catching at the silky lace and dragging across her sensitive flesh like sandpaper, the rasp of it making her aware of every place he caressed.

Abandoning the stockings, he pushed her skirt up higher and continued his exploration. With every inch closer to where she wanted him to be, Peggy felt her internal temperature jump another degree or ten. Liquid heat pooled between her thighs, flooding from there through the rest of her body in waves of pleasure. 

When he reached the thin satin of her panties Peggy couldn’t stop a whimper of desire from escaping her. His answering noise was decidedly smug, but she decided to forgive him when he rubbed against her through the damp silk. He knew just where to touch, fingers gliding over the tight nub of her pleasure.

Her garters gave him trouble when he tried to ease the panties off her, however. He appeared momentarily stymied, growling in frustration, but before she could make a suggestion he wrapped the material of her panties around his fingers and ripped them off her.

She gasped, and his growl turned to something closer to a satisfied purr as he returned his hand to her core. This time he was able to slip two fingers inside her, working them gently back and forth until her hips started moving in time with his rhythm.

Vaguely aware that this had so far been terribly one-sided, Peggy somehow found the presence of mind to move one of her hands down from his waist, undoing his belt and fly and pushing inside to find the hard length of him. She wrapped her fingers around him, rubbing the heel of her palm against his head and feeling the seeping fluid already starting to gather there.

Bucky shouted, startled and aroused by her touch. His eyes met hers, hazed over with desire, and he shuddered when she stroked down the length of him in response. He retaliated by twisting his hand until he could press his thumb over her pleasure spot, and this time it was Peggy who cried out helplessly.

“That’s it,” she praised him, her voice husky as he continued to move his hand against and inside her. “You’re... you’re doing just fine. Does it feel good?”

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” he answered, his voice just as rough as hers. “God, you’re so wet and tight. And your... hnn... your hand, it’s so good...”

Tightening her grip, Peggy stroked him more firmly, matching the rhythm he set with her. She knew the moment he realized what she was doing, because his pace sped up and became more regular. When he started to shake against her she knew he was close, and she used her other hand to catch the back of his neck and pull him down into another kiss.

This time his mouth was sloppy against hers, technique lost beneath the assault of pleasure, but she didn’t think she was managing any better. They panted against each other, tongues tangling as their pace continued to increase, and when Bucky reached the edge his cry was muffled against her lips.

Even as he spilled himself over her hand, he gave one last push into her with his fingers, adding a third so she felt stretched almost to the breaking point. The increased pressure within was just enough for her to reach the peak as well. She shuddered against him, sobbing for air, and he collapsed half over her.

For long moments they lay there, hands still cupping each other’s intimate places, just trying to catch their breath. When she turned her head to look at him Bucky appeared stunned, as if he wasn’t quite certain exactly what had happened. “Are you all right?” she asked, as she pulled her hand away from him.

He groaned at the loss of her touch, but took the hint and removed his as well, patting her skirt back down into place before he wrapped his arm around her waist instead. He cinched her close, turning them so he was pressed against her back with his face buried in her shoulder. He was still shaking a little, fine tremors running through his body, but when he spoke his voice was lighter than she’d yet heard it. “I’m okay. That was amazing. I didn’t hurt you?”

“Not at all,” she reassured him. She draped her arm over his in turn, and sighed with pleasure at the solid heat of him behind her. “It was wonderful. _You_ were wonderful.”

Reality was returning despite her best efforts to keep it at bay. There were so many reasons she shouldn’t have allowed this to happen, starting with Bucky’s extreme emotional instability and ending with the rings on her left hand. She could try to console herself with the fact that they hadn’t done more than touch, but the argument felt thin and hollow. Perhaps they hadn’t engaged in intercourse, but they’d had sex nonetheless. And God knew, trapped together for the foreseeable future in this cabin, now that they’d given in once it wasn’t likely to be the last time.

Despite all that, she couldn’t quite bring herself to feel regret. Guilt and shame, yes, but not regret. What that said about her character, she wasn't sure.


	7. Chapter 7

For the first time he could ever remember, he woke from sleep feeling... okay. The echoes of pain from his dreams still skittered along his nerves, but countering that was the lingering sensation of pleasure from what he’d done with Peggy the night before. He was pretty sure he must have had sex in the past; his instincts had seemed to know exactly what to do to make her feel good. Even so he was positive last night was the best thing he’d ever experienced.

She was no longer in his arms, of course. Being too close to him when the dreams started was a bad idea. She’d draped a blanket over him where he was curled up on the couch cushions before she left, though. It was the sort of thoughtful gesture he’d come to expect from Peggy. She was always taking care of him, even when he lashed out at her for it. HYDRA had stolen his faith in miracles and angels, but if anything could make him believe again, it was her.

When he sought her out he expected her to greet him with a smile and a touch, or maybe another kiss. Maybe she’d even let him lift her up to the counter so he could press against her without having to lean over, and he could find new ways to make her moan.

Far from smiling, however, Peggy’s expression when she saw him was closed off and distant. She always reached out to him in the mornings, reconnecting them with her touch and reminding him that not everything was about pain, in case the dreams made him forget again. This time she only turned away to start preparing breakfast.

Bewildered and hurt, he stood in the doorway and stared at her. The unusual response would have thrown him off badly enough on any other day, but after what they’d shared the previous night it was the last thing he’d expected.

(She’s rejecting you. She finally sees you for what you really are, the monster HYDRA made you.) The voice in the back of his mind had gotten progressively nastier as the rest of his thoughts grew less painful. Or perhaps it was that the old voice was now the one he heard most of the time, and the thoughts HYDRA had forced on him were losing their power. 

He shoved the dark whisper away as he’d learned to do over the past weeks, but it wouldn’t leave him alone entirely, lingering like a bad smell that wouldn’t fade and tainted everything it came in contact with.

As the day progressed Peggy only grew colder, refusing to touch him or even look him in the eyes. In desperation he tried reaching out to her first, something he still had a great deal of trouble doing. She allowed him to make the contact, even giving him the first hint of a smile when he squeezed her shoulder gently, but when he lifted his hand to try to cup her jaw she drew away after just a few seconds.

(You fucked up good this time,) the dark voice murmured to him. (HYDRA broke you too badly to be fixed, and now she’s realized it. She probably hated what you did to her last night, and didn’t tell you because she didn’t want to upset you.)

Again he forced the thought away, but it was harder to do than it had been in weeks.

By the time they got to dinner, the tension between them was so thick and heavy he almost thought he could thrust a knife in the air and feel resistance. They were both toying with their food, hardly eating anything. Lately Peggy had taken to chiding him if he left food on his plate, saying that he needed to keep up his energy, but tonight she didn’t say a word. In fact she’d barely spoken to him all day, another sign that something was badly wrong. 

At this point he was barely hanging on to his temper, clinging by the skin of his teeth to the control she’d taught him. He wanted to hurt her like she was hurting him, claw her heart out so she could experience the way it felt like she was ripping his to pieces. He wanted to swear and scream at her, to shake her until she was _forced_ to say something, look at him, or acknowledge him in any way at all.

Abruptly Peggy set her fork and knife down, the cutlery making a clatter against her plate as she announced, “I’m going to get some air, Bucky.”

Bucky. Usually he liked it when she called him that. On a good day, he could almost think of himself that way, almost acknowledge that it wasn’t just a word but a piece of him. Today was not a good day. All the warmth she usually put into the name was missing from her voice, turning it into a shard of ice that stabbed the deepest pain yet into his chest.

(She’s leaving you. She’s running away. She never leaves the house without you unless she’s going for supplies, and she always tells you that. She’ll flee, and turn you over to HYDRA, because that’s where you belong.)

Snarling, he lunged to his feet. In a motion too fast to follow he grabbed her knife and spiked it downwards, his only thought to pin her in place so she couldn’t get away. Peggy snatched her hand out of reach just in time, and he buried the knife halfway to the hilt in the solid maple table.

“Bucky, what on earth... stop it!” she shouted at him as she backed hastily away from him. He pushed her into her chair and it fell over, nearly taking her to the ground with it, but he caught her with a hand beneath her chest as she fell and used it to slam her back into the wall. 

“Stop _running_ from me,” he hissed, so furious he could barely get the words out. 

“You’re attacking me! Of course I’m not going to stand there and let you hurt me,” she retorted, struggling to get out from under his hand. He shifted to grab her by the upper arms instead, squeezing hard enough that she cried out in pain.

“You’ve been running away from me all fucking day,” he snapped back, shaking her the way he’d been dying to do for hours. “What the Hell is wrong with you?”

“What? I’ve done no such...”

He cut her off by slamming her into the wall again, and saw her wince as the back of her head struck hard. “I warned you in the beginning about lying to me,” he growled, voice low and as cold as she’d been towards him all day. “You haven’t touched me. You haven’t talked to me. You haven’t _looked_ at me.”

Her reaction to his words was one of shock and pain, the emotions so intense he actually had to glance down to be certain he hadn’t instinctively stabbed her. The thought had certainly crossed his mind, but both his hands were still locked on her arms and he wasn’t squeezing hard enough to break anything. Not quite.

The satisfaction of seeing her so visibly overwrought only lasted for a moment. She pulled herself back together quickly, and met his gaze squarely. He could still see pain there, but also iron determination. “Bucky, you’re hurting me.”

“ _Good_ ,” he replied viciously. “That’s exactly what I want to do.”

“We’ve talked about this,” she continued in a level tone, as if he’d said nothing at all. “Violence is not an appropriate response to emotional upset. If you want this conversation to continue, you’ll have to let go of me and stand back.”

They had talked about it, many times. In the beginning she’d let him get away with it more, but as time went on and he gained better control of his impulses, she’d started refusing to engage with him if he tried to hurt her. Not punishing him; Peggy never hurt him back, or at least no more than was necessary to protect herself from him. When he’d realized that lashing out only meant she wouldn’t talk to him at all, he’d slowly trained himself to stop doing it.

This time, though, he didn’t want to step back and let go. He didn’t want to be reasonable, or try to behave, or make her happy with him again. He only wanted to cause her pain.

(It’s a trick. If you let go, she'll just run away like she was already planning to. If you hurt her enough she’ll start to talk again, you know she will.)

The temptation to listen to the dark voice was very strong. He feared it was right, that she was only trying to get him to let go long enough for her to escape, and he’d lose her forever.

But some part of him knew that if he hurt Peggy, _truly_ hurt her, he’d only lose her all the faster. Breathing hard and sweating with the effort it took, he pried his hands off her arms and forced himself to take the step back she’d demanded of him.

Peggy’s relief was obvious, but she didn’t so much as try to get out from between him and the wall. He knew he’d made the right choice when she stayed, and the dark voice got just a little quieter in his head.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you,” she said, still looking him straight in the eyes. “It wasn’t you I was avoiding, it was myself.”

The statement confused him. Avoiding herself? Was that even something it was possible to do? It wasn’t like she could leave her body behind. “How does that work?”

A hint of amusement entered her expression. “Not very well, I’m afraid. I hadn’t realized how badly my preoccupation was affecting you because... well, because I was preoccupied. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

She’d folded her hands together, fingers fidgeting with the rings on her left hand. The motion drew his attention, and he frowned as something about it tugged at his mind. He caught her left hand in his right, lifting her arm and putting his fingers beneath hers to turn her hand so he could get a close look at the rings. One had a single diamond in a stand-alone setting, and the other was a plain gold band.

Wedding band, a distant memory prompted him, and engagement ring. The ones Sousa had given her.

“Haven’t I?” he asked in response to her last words, raising his eyes back to hers but not letting go of her. He didn’t try to hurt her this time, his hand gentle on hers. His fury was draining away despite the best efforts of his dark voice to provoke him, and it left sorrow and guilt in its place as realization unfolded. 

Peggy had cheated on her husband. With him. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind last night - not that he’d been thinking much at all, not once the heat had swept through him and he understood what the way she was looking at him meant.

“No, you haven’t,” she repeated firmly. “I have, and I take full responsibility for my own actions. I’m an adult, and I made a choice I’ll have to live with.”

“I shouldn’t have started it,” he countered, and for some reason that made her give him a wry smile.

“Perhaps not, but I think you’ve got a bit more excuse than most for lusting after another man’s wife.” She squeezed his fingers, and brought her other hand up so his was trapped between hers. “I’m the one who didn’t say ‘no’, and that’s what really matters. You didn’t betray any vows, I did. I don’t regret it... but it’s been hard to think about anything else today.”

He stood still for a long moment, thinking about that. He’d heard her talking to Sousa, at the house she’d taken him to before they left the city. He’d heard the warmth in her voice, though he hadn’t understood what it meant at the time. He had to ask, to be sure. “Do you love him?”

“Very much.” Her smile went from wry to soft, a match to the way she’d sounded when talking to her husband.

“Does he make you happy?” That seemed like the most important question, somehow. 

Her smile grew, and the distant look in hers eyes told him she was thinking of a fond memory. “When I thought I would never be happy again.” 

The words echoed within him, making his chest hurt and his throat close. He looked at Peggy, with her hair mussed and blouse in disarray from the force he’d used on her, and thought about the horrible bruises he knew were probably already starting to show beneath her sleeves. Lifting his gaze to look around, he took in the battered chair, the knife embedded in the table, and the holes he’d put in the wall during various other explosions. “I guess I don’t make you very happy, do I?”

“It’s not the first word I would choose to describe our relationship, no,” she agreed. The wryness was back, and yet somehow the softness and warmth were still there as well as she looked up at him. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s HYDRA’s, but that doesn’t make it okay.” What would... would _he_ think, of the way his best girl had been treated by his best friend? He’d have punched out any guy that dared to lay a hand on Peggy, probably. No matter who it was.

“You’re getting better,” she insisted, holding his hand a little tighter.

“Am I?” He wasn’t so sure about that, not after what he’d just done. If she’d been a hair slower he’d have put that knife right through her hand, and even now the thought gave him a sick sort of satisfaction. 

“You are. I didn’t mean to hurt you today; small wonder you lashed out this time.” Peggy tugged at him, leading him away from the table and out of the dining room, and he followed her willingly. “Forget the dishes for now, I’ll do them tomorrow. Why don’t we sit together and I’ll read to you some more?”

He liked it when she read to him, almost as much as he liked it when she sang. Her voice was beautiful and soothing. Listening to her for an hour or two would probably go a long way toward healing the hurt she’d dealt him today.

It didn’t escape him that she hadn’t offered to rub his back, though. He wondered if she would let him sit with his head on her knees like she usually did, or if she’d continue to keep him at arm’s length. If she did let him close, would he be able to resist the urge to touch her again, with the memory of how damned good she tasted still lingering on his tongue?

He’d been starting to believe her insistence that everything would work out okay in the end, that he could get away from HYDRA and recover himself and have a life again. But he’d never imagined that life without her in it, and now he realized he’d been a fool. She wasn’t his. She’d never be his. 

Did he still want that life if she wasn’t?


	8. Chapter 8

_She couldn’t have been more than ten, a frightened little girl sobbing for her mother in German. Young as she was, an ugly tattoo marred the inside of her wrist, crooked black numbers marching over her delicate skin._

_Bucky stood over her, knife in hand, trembling. He knew what they wanted him to do. It was simple enough. Kill her, in any way he liked. If he wanted to hurt her first it would probably make them happier, but he could kill her quickly and that would satisfy them too._

_Twice before, they’d brought him to this tiny room, with a crying child tied up and helpless like a lamb brought to slaughter. Twice before, they’d given him the order to kill the child, and he’d refused. Twice before, they’d brought in the child’s entire family and forced Bucky to watch as they were tortured to death, one after another, the child’s death last and the most horrific of all._

_Twice before, they’d dragged him away afterwards and tortured him as well, flaying the skin from his body and waiting until his enhanced healing grew it back before they started all over again._

_He could do it. He could slide the knife between her ribs, into her heart. It would be quick - not painless, but compared to what HYDRA would do to her, she’d hardly feel a thing. He didn’t know if they’d still kill her family - probably, but they might do it fast, and they likely wouldn’t force him to watch. They wouldn’t be_ able _to force the girl to watch, because she’d already be safely beyond their reach. And they wouldn’t torture him._

 _He could do it. He knew he shouldn’t, but he_ could _. Wouldn’t it be better for both of them?_

_Steve would never do it. Bucky knew that like he knew the ground was down and water was wet. Steve would die before he killed an innocent, no matter the consequences. He’d probably put the knife in his own heart, instead. Bucky had tried that, the first couple of times they’d given him a weapon, but they’d kept him from dying and the punishment... well, it made what would be done to him for not killing the girl look like a Sunday picnic._

_Steve would never do it. But Steve wasn’t here._

_Bucky was. And so was the little girl._

_The knife went in so fast and smooth she didn’t even have time to feel it before it hit her heart. She gasped and choked, eyes going wide as she stared up at him. He twisted the knife to be sure, feeling the blade grate against her ribs as it shredded her heart, and moments later she breathed her last breath._

_All he could taste was the salt of his tears, and the bitterness of despair. She’d never had a chance to scream, so the one he could hear echoing in the tiny room had to be his own._

The sound of his own screaming still rang in his ears, his throat raw and voice hoarse, as he flailed his way back to awareness. He pushed to his feet and staggered over to the nearest wall, leaning against the solid surface for support as he gasped for air. He was disoriented, but the agony throbbing in his head told him he’d been misbehaving again, and the taste of his tears meant he was going to be punished.

“Are you all right?” 

Someone was approaching, and he spun to put his back to the wall. His hand hit what felt like a bookshelf as he moved, and instinct reminded him that he’d hidden a knife there. He had no memory of when he’d put it there or how he’d gotten it in the first place, but the only important thing was that he had it now. He palmed it quickly, before his handler could see what he was doing.

“That sounded worse than usual,” the HYDRA tech was saying as she approached. “Bucky?”

More pain streaked through him, making him scream again despite his best efforts to remain silent. She was testing him, prodding him to see if she could push him into slipping, into answering to what used to be his name. He wasn’t allowed to be that person any more.

But this time he had the knife. He had the knife, and he knew they’d punish him for hurting his handler but he was already in agony, and it would feel so good to get some of his own back. They’d made him kill that little girl, he’d broken at last and done what they wanted, and it had only been the first of many. Let at least one of his kills be someone who deserved it.

She shrieked as he launched himself at her, tackling her hard. They hit the ground with a solid thud, and he pinned her there with his knee digging into her stomach and both her wrists caught in the merciless grip of his metal hand, stretched up above her head. She struggled wildly, even managed to catch him in the kidney with her knee, but it wasn’t nearly enough to shake him loose.

He remembered exactly where he’d slid the knife in, to kill the little girl. He would never forget. He aimed this knife at the same spot on the woman, feeling almost like making the kill in the same way would give the nameless girl justice.

“Bucky, _stop_!”

Something about the sound of her voice was... familiar. He froze, knife digging into the flesh between her fourth and fifth ribs, and he could feel how fast and hard her heart was pounding. He wanted so badly to drive the blade the rest of the way home, but an equally strong need to pull away was tearing him in half. Why couldn’t he kill her? If he could kill an innocent little girl, why couldn’t he kill this woman?

“It’s all right,” she was saying, her voice breathless with pain but now soft, gentle. “Come back to me. Bucky, come back. Look at me. It’s Peggy. You’re safe. It’s all right.”

Slowly his eyes focused on her, and recognition dawned. “Peggy? What... how...”

His gaze dropped to the knife jammed between her ribs, and he felt all the blood drain from his face. “Oh God, no,” he exclaimed, jerking away from her like he’d been burned. “No, no, no, no! No, I’m so sorry, oh my God, no, I’m sorry.”

Had he hit her heart? How far in was the blade? About half way to the hilt... it might have missed, but if he’d nicked her she was going to bleed out inside right in front of him, and it would be all his fault. 

(You killed her. You killed her. You killed her you killed her youkilledheryoukilledher...) Both sides of his mind were shouting at him now, one in horror and the other in triumph, and he couldn’t hear any other thought through the noise.

Peggy was breathing shallowly in an attempt not to jar the knife, and her eyes were pained as she met his. “Get the first aid kit,” she demanded, voice shaking. “ _Bucky_ , look at me. Panic afterwards. Get the kit, _now_.”

Orders. Orders were such beautiful things. They gave him a path to follow without needing to think, something he was clearly incapable of at the moment. Scrambling to his feet, he ran blindly for the bathroom where he knew the kit was kept. She’d used it a few times over the last month, mostly on him when he did damage to himself in a fit of violence. Snatching it off the counter, he hurried back to her as fast as his feet could carry him and threw himself to his knees at her side.

She’d lowered her arms and was now holding the knife in place, making certain it didn’t jostle with the rise and fall of her chest. “Get a dressing ready,” she instructed breathlessly. “Get several. As soon as you pull the knife out, press a dressing over the wound as hard as you can. If the blood soaks through, put another on top until it starts to clot. Then help me onto my side so the wound is above my heart.”

Hands shaking, he followed her instructions. She moaned when he pulled the knife out again, though he was careful to make certain it didn’t turn or dip at all so it wouldn’t enlarge the wound. He slapped the dressing into place even as the last bit of knife pulled free of her flesh, trying to ensure no air got in. He vaguely remembered seeing men die like that in the war, their lungs collapsing because of air that got into their chest from a German bayonet. 

Peggy touched his face with her hand and he jumped, startled by the contact. Thankfully he didn’t move far enough to release the pressure on her injury, and she waited patiently until he settled again. “It’s going to be all right,” she told him. 

“All right?” His voice cracked from stress that was dangerously close to hysteria. “All _right_? Peggy, I _stabbed you_. I nearly killed you! It could still kill you, if it doesn’t stop bleeding or air gets in there.”

“I shouldn’t have come so close to you,” she countered. “I know better, but you sounded _so_ upset, and you were on your feet so I thought you were more aware of what was real and what wasn’t. The important thing is that you stopped.”

“No, the important thing is that I fucking _stabbed you_ ,” he repeated, staring at her in disbelief. “You just had a knife blade an inch from your heart! _My_ knife blade. How can you possibly think everything will be all right?”

“It wasn’t as deep as all that. You have to calm down, Bucky. Please, just...” The effectiveness of her plea was somewhat ruined when she tried to lift her hand further and unthinkingly put strain on her side muscles. She made an undignified pained noise, cutting her off in mid sentence. 

“This isn’t working,” he realized, despair creeping up on him. “This, all of it... I’m not getting better, I’m getting worse. The more I remember, the worse the nightmares get. I’ve never lost track of reality like that before.”

“That’s progress,” Peggy insisted. “The night is always darkest before the dawn, Bucky. You’re remembering new things every day, and you sound more and more like yourself.” She chuckled, just the barest sound of amusement before she winced and had to stop, but he couldn’t believe she could laugh about it. “In fact you sound more like your old self right now than you have yet. Perhaps panic is good for you.”

“You’re insane,” he declared flatly. “You’re crazier than I am, and that’s God damned saying something. How good do you think I’d sound if I _had_ killed you, huh? What do you think that would do to my recovery?”

She sobered, and rested her hand over his where it pressed the dressing against her wound. “But you didn’t. You stopped.”

“Next time, you might not be so lucky.” He narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head. “Don’t fool yourself that it was anything but luck.”

“Please, don’t give up,” she begged him. “Not like this, you’re so close.”

“No, I’m not.” He looked down at her grimly. “You need to go home, before I really do hurt you. You’ve got a life, a job, a _husband_. Don’t throw that away on a dead man, Peggy. That’s all I really am.”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, suddenly fierce. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about yourself that way, James Barnes. You’ve been given a second chance at life, and you’re going to toss that aside because of a single incident? _Millions_ of people died in the war, and for you to throw your life away is disrespectful of every one of them. Including _him_ , so don’t you dare.”

Her words struck him dumb. There was literally nothing he could think of to say in response, because she was right. She was right... but he still didn’t know what to do.

“HYDRA spent years breaking you down, of course it will take more than a month to undo it.” She met his gaze steadily, refusing to back down or look away, and not letting him look away either. “I’m not giving up yet, and neither are you. Do you hear me?”

Despite himself, the barest ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, and if he hadn’t needed to keep pressure on her wound he’d have saluted as well.

“That’s better.” She seemed satisfied with his capitulation. “There’s one option I hadn’t yet explored, because it involves bringing in another person and I wasn’t certain you’d be able to handle that. There’s a man working with SHIELD who is...” Peggy eyed him for a moment, and he sensed that she changed what she’d been about to say, probably to avoid treading on one of the land mines buried in his head. “Let’s just say, familiar with HYDRA’s methods. He might have a better idea of how to undo what was done to you, systematically rather than the haphazard method we’ve been trying. Can you trust me enough to let me bring him in?”

There was no question of whether he trusted _her_. Could he extend that trust to cover someone he didn’t know, someone ‘familiar with HYDRA’s methods’? That wasn’t the sort of thing you got to know in any innocent way. Either it was someone else who’d suffered at their hands as he had, or it was a HYDRA member who’d defected. In the former case he wasn’t sure it was a good idea for the two of them to be brought together, and in the latter case... well.

But he did trust her, and if she was certain this person could be trusted in turn... he’d make it work somehow. Even if he had to get her to tie him up first.

“All right,” he agreed warily. “But Peggy...” He waited until he was certain he had her full attention. “If this doesn’t work, then you’re going back to your husband. I won’t risk your life any further. _He’d_ never forgive me, and I’d never forgive myself.”

“And what happens to you if I leave?” It wasn’t a protest, but he saw in her eyes that she already suspected the answer.

“Then I make sure there’s no chance HYDRA will be able to take me alive,” he replied, voice flat. The dark whispers in his head were trying to torment him with images of the punishment he’d get for trying – but Hell, they couldn’t punish him if he was already dead. This time, there would be no handler to make sure he survived if he attempted to finish things. “I won’t let myself be a danger to you or anyone else, ever again. I don’t want to ever kill another innocent.”

She closed her eyes, her expression pained. “Understood. Then we’ll just have to make certain this works.” When she looked up at him again, determination radiated from her so intensely he could almost feel it. “I’ll need a few days to heal up enough to be able to risk moving, perhaps more. Then I’ll go back to the city and fetch help.”

He nodded. His training and enhancements made it possible for him to stay awake for several days straight if necessary. As long as he didn’t sleep, he didn’t think he’d lose control to the point that he’d attack her. 

One way or another, he wouldn’t allow that to happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note that if you are performing first aid for someone who has been stabbed and the object is still in the wound, especially if it's a chest wound, DO NOT pull the object out. Put pressure on the flesh around the intrusion as best you can, try to make sure the object won't fall out or shift around, and call the ambulance immediately.


	9. Chapter 9

Was it possible to love, truly love, two men at the same time?

Well, obviously. Even after Daniel had won her heart, Peggy had never stopped loving Steve. That was different, though. Her feelings for Steve were tucked away in a safe corner of her heart, and in no way encroached on her feelings for her husband. Daniel had never begrudged her that, because he knew he had no need to be threatened by her love for a dead man.

But was it possible to _actively_ be in love with two different people at the same time? 

Nothing had changed about Peggy’s emotions towards Daniel. When she thought of him she still got the same bright warmth in her chest and bubbling feeling of happiness that she had for years, since before she’d agreed to marry him. She’d missed him sorely over the last month, and that sensation of emptiness at her side where he belonged only continued to grow. The temptation to go and see him while she was in the city, to wrap herself in the scent and feel of him for even an hour, had been almost too strong to resist.

In the end she’d stayed away because she hadn’t been certain what she would say to him. Her promise to herself not to lie to him included lies of omission, and she hadn’t the first idea how she was going to tell him about what had happened with Bucky.

Especially because if she were truly being honest, she’d have to admit that the physical aspect was the least of her infidelity. Her heart felt like it was going to burst with an explosive combination of grief and admiration, pity and respect, every time she thought of Bucky. And she thought of him constantly. 

Peggy couldn’t find any word to describe it but love. It was very different from what she felt for Daniel, and different again from what she’d felt for Steve, but she was learning that ‘love’ was a broad category indeed. 

Was that why she was able to love them all simultaneously, because her feelings covered different ground for each? Or was there something broken in her psyche, some part missing in her that everyone else possessed to ensure their devotion could be given to only one person at a time?

Perhaps if her feelings had been pure Philos with no Eros, emotional attachment with no sexual attraction, she could have hoped that Daniel would accept Bucky as a necessary part of Peggy’s life. His words to her at the Jarvis residence indicated that he might even forgive her for her indiscretion as long as she chose to come back to him as she’d promised. But she had no illusions that he would welcome the idea of her having a long-term lover.

“A pfennig for your thoughts, Frau Sousa?”

The unexpected words cut into her introspection, and Peggy was ashamed to admit she jumped. Her passenger had been so quiet through the long drive she’d nearly forgotten about him. “It’s Agent Sousa, doctor, or Director if you’re feeling formal. And I’m afraid you’d be overpaying if I accepted that bargain, even at today’s value for German currency.”

Zola gave her a wry smile. “I find that difficult to believe. I have never known you to be a shallow woman, and your thoughts appeared deeper still.”

“Moral dilemmas, I’m afraid,” Peggy elaborated, somewhat ruefully. “Nothing you can help me with.”

“And what, if I may ask, is it I _can_ help you with?” Zola arched one eyebrow at her over his spectacles. “It is obviously a matter of some secrecy, but surely I can serve you better if I know what it is I’m supposed to be doing.”

Peggy had to smile. “I’d praise your intelligence for realizing the need for secrecy, but I fancy being spirited out of their home in the middle of the night by an agent who is supposedly MIA would bring most people to the same conclusion. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but it was vital that no one yet realize where I’ve been.”

“I had assumed as much,” Zola agreed, his tone dry. “There is no need to praise my intelligence in any case; I am quite aware of it already.”

From anyone else - well, anyone but Howard - she’d have assumed the words were a joke. From Zola the statement was so matter-of-fact she was forced to take it at face value. At least he wasn’t smug about it, as Howard so often could be.

Arnim Zola was such a small, round little man, so seemingly harmless; it was difficult to believe he’d once acted as Johann Schmidt’s right hand. He was certainly nothing like any other HYDRA fanatic she’d ever encountered - likely because he was rather missing the ‘fanatic’ part. Having interviewed him extensively before approving his entry to SHIELD, Peggy had concluded that while his moral judgement was sorely lacking, the only thing Zola truly devoted himself to was pure science. During the war, HYDRA had offered him the most esoteric and powerful components to research and experiment upon. Now SHIELD had control of the world’s most outré materials, and so Zola had come willingly to them.

That put him in the unique position of being the only high clearance member of SHIELD who had a full understanding of exactly how HYDRA operated, and what sort of experiments might have been performed on Bucky to turn him into the wreck he’d become. If anyone could reverse what had been done to Bucky, it would be this man.

Choosing her words carefully, Peggy considered how best to outline the situation without giving too much away just yet. If for some reason he _didn’t_ have the knowledge necessary to help, she wanted to limit how much of the secret he knew. 

“I’ve recently retrieved a... missing soldier who had fallen into HYDRA’s hands during the war. They’ve done something to him, doctor, something truly horrid. His mind is no longer entirely his own - his memories and his very identity have been taken from him. I believe he may have been subjected to an extreme form of the process known as ‘brainwashing’.”

“Ah.” Zola’s lips pursed as small furrow appeared on his brow. “I am familiar with the theory. Herr Schmidt had more than enough loyal followers, even fanatics who were utterly devoted to HYDRA’s cause. Still, he felt it might be valuable to have those who were _fully_ under his control, unable to disobey no matter the circumstances. Even better if they were former enemies; the irony appealed to him. He had several researchers looking into the matter, and as I had oversight of all scientific sub-divisions, I read much of their work.”

“That’s exactly what I had hoped you would say,” Peggy admitted. “He’s been improving, in the sense that he’s regaining some memories and an awareness of himself as person instead of a weapon. But he suffers from drastic mood swings, sometimes resulting in violent outbursts. At least once he’s lost track of reality, and believed himself to be back in HYDRA’s facilities.”

“Violent outbursts, you say? How severe?” Zola reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small bound notebook and pencil. He began scribbling notes on a blank page, recording everything she’d just told him.

“Sometimes no more than a very bad temper tantrum, but they’ve ranged from punching holes in the walls to outright destroying furniture. He’s attacked me several times, though he’s only truly hurt me once since he agreed to let me help him.”

“I am surprised.” Zola looked at her curiously, pushing his glasses up on his nose with the end of his pencil. “Given the level of conditioning it sounds as though he has been exposed to, I would have expected far more damage to one he would frequently perceive as his enemy.”

“He’s an old friend,” Peggy admitted with a tight smile. “Someone very important to me. They sent him to kill me, in fact, and he found himself unable to follow through on his orders though he had no conscious idea why. I’m quite certain he’s prevented himself from doing me any real harm, the more so as I’m increasingly convinced he was treated with some form of Dr. Erskine’s serum. He would have done far more damage if he weren’t exercising restraint.”

“I see.” Zola tapped the pencil point on the page a few times, then wrote another note. “What prompted you to seek me out, then? It sounds as if he is recovering as well as may be expected.”

“The outbursts are getting less frequent, but far more dangerous,” Peggy told him. “The last time, he came out of a nightmare not realizing where he was and stabbed me with a knife, thinking I was one of his handlers. I managed to get through to him in time to stop him from killing me, but he’s petrified it will happen again. I can’t say I’m terribly sanguine about the possibility, myself.” 

The wound in her side still burned fiercely, a constant reminder of the disaster that had nearly occurred. From the moment he’d first admitted that he’d failed to pull the trigger on her several times without knowing why, Peggy had fully believed that Bucky wouldn’t take that final, fatal step. However angry he got with her, however violent, the fact that he’d never seriously harmed her had backed up that belief, and given her the courage to continue to face him down without flinching. 

Now, they’d proven that there _were_ circumstances under which he would finish the job he’d been sent to do, intentionally or not. The solid ground she’d based her faith in him on had turned out to be quicksand, and they were both teetering on a dangerous edge as a result. 

Peggy couldn’t trust him not to kill her, and that meant she couldn’t let herself be as vulnerable with him as he needed her to be. Bucky couldn’t trust himself not to hurt her, and he was closing back up on himself in an attempt to protect her.

“I’m afraid if we can’t assure him that you’ll be able to help him gain control, he may do something drastic.” Her throat ached as she said the words. She understood why he was afraid of what he might do, and why he was determined that HYDRA would never recapture him. But she couldn’t stand the thought of him dying, not after everything he’d been through and how close he’d come to salvation.

“I believe I will be able to make significant progress on his conditioning,” Zola said, and the confidence in his voice buoyed her hopes. “Fear not, my dear. We shall return your friend to his proper self once more.”

She didn’t even protest his familiarity. If Zola could save Bucky, she’d let him call her ‘dear’ until the end of time and be happy about it.

As she continued to drive, Zola pumped her for all the details she could give about the situation, and Peggy answered without further restraint. Now that he’d confirmed he was able and willing to assist her, more information could only help him prepare. 

When they reached the isolated cabin, Peggy turned off the car but held out a hand to indicate that Zola should stay in his seat. “Forgive me, doctor, but I think it would be best if you wait out here for the moment. I’ve been gone more than a day and I’ve no idea what state he might be in. I want a chance to prepare him, and to be certain he’s… in the right frame of mind.”

In other words, she needed to warn Bucky just _who_ she’d brought back to help them, and be certain he wouldn’t attack Zola the moment he saw the man.

“Of course,” Zola agreed readily, resettling in his seat and flipping back to the beginning of his notes. “I shall review the data while I wait.”

Leaving him to it, Peggy approached the cabin somewhat warily. Bucky would undoubtedly have heard the car coming up the drive, but unless he’d checked through a front window – unlikely, he avoided the windows almost obsessively to ensure no one watching from the outside would identify him – he wouldn’t know it was her. 

Given his very justifiable paranoia about being found and attacked, it was probable he’d have set up defences and would be waiting to pounce on anyone who came into the building. 

“Bucky?” she called as she eased the door open slowly. “It’s Peggy, I’ve brought...”

Her voice trailed off in shock as she got a good view of the cabin’s main room. It looked as though there had been a knockdown, drag-out fight held there. Furniture was broken, cushions ripped, and there were far more holes in the walls than when she’d left. 

Frightened, Peggy stepped fully into the room and let the door close behind her, not wanting Zola to see anything yet. “Oh, my God. Bucky!” She raised her volume to something just short of a shout, praying that the only reason he hadn’t answered her first call was because he hadn’t heard her.

“Peggy?”

Her knees went weak with relief when Bucky appeared in the doorway to the hallway, clutching at the doorframe with his flesh hand. Even from across the room, Peggy could see the way his knuckles were bleeding, as if he’d punched a solid object so hard the skin had split. Given his enhanced healing, if it was still bleeding now the initial injury must have been far more severe.

He crossed the space between them in that too fast to be real way he had of moving. Before she could realize his intention he swept her up into a tight hug, burying his right hand in her hair to cup her head and cradle her against him. “Thank God,” he said, his voice shaking. “You’re okay.”

“ _I’m_ all right?” Peggy repeated incredulously. “What on Earth happened! Did HYDRA track you down?” She certainly couldn’t imagine him getting into a battle royale with anyone else.

“I...” He drew a deep breath, trembling against her, still holding her too close for her to see his expression. Peggy wrapped her arms around his waist in turn, trying to make it clear that he didn’t need to fear she would back away before he was ready, and the worst of his shudders eased.

“I couldn’t stay awake any more, after you left,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “I dreamed... that I killed you. When I woke up I couldn’t remember whether the dream was that I had or hadn’t done it.”

“Oh, Bucky.” Her grip tightened on him, and she turned her head to rest her cheek properly against his shoulder. “Surely the lack of a body would have been a good indication?”

“I thought I might have... disposed of the evidence.” Bucky’s voice broke on the last word, and she heard him take another deep breath, as if her scent was as much comfort as the feel of her against him. 

“It’s all right,” she murmured. It was a phrase she used far too often recently, and it felt too much like an empty platitude, but she just didn’t know what else to say. “I’m here now, and I’m fine. No permanent damage.”

He caught her by the shoulders and eased her away from him, enough to let him look down at her. His eyes flicked over her face and body, perhaps searching for signs of any new injury. Smiling at him in reassurance, Peggy slipped one hand free and lifted it to cup his cheek. “See? I’m fine.”

“This time.” Bucky’s eyes were still dark, and though the worst of the tremors had passed his breathing remained ragged. “What about next time?”

“There won’t be a next time,” she told him, her voice as firm as she could make it. “I’ve brought the man I said I would, and he’s confident he’ll be able to help you. But there’s something I should tell you first...”

He cut her off with a kiss, fierce and passionate and so unbearably fragile all at once. Peggy couldn’t stop herself from returning it, not when she could feel his need for reassurance so badly.

When he pulled away again he wasn’t the only one breathing hard. Peggy bit her lip, searching for something to say, but he beat her to it. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I know I shouldn’t have done that. But I just... Peggy, I love you.”

There were so many things she could, _should_ , say to that. Not least of which was to point out that, as emotionally unstable and dependent upon her as Bucky was, it was far more likely that he was mistaking gratitude and need for love. But despite his frantic entrance, the look in his eyes now was closer to sane, to _normal_ for him, than she’d seen since he’d first cornered her on the rooftop.

Whether it was a sign of true improvement or just a moment of clarity brought on by panic, Peggy believed he knew exactly what he was saying and meant every word.

“And I, you,” she said, her voice nearly as husky as his. She still had no idea what the answer to her moral dilemma was, but she could no more deny her feelings for Bucky than she could pretend she didn’t love Daniel. “I don’t know how things will work out in the future, but let’s take it one step at a time. And the first step is...”

“The first step is assessing the damage that has been done.” Zola spoke from the entrance - Peggy had been so wrapped up in Bucky, she hadn’t heard the door open again.

Silently she cursed as she felt Bucky go tense against her. This was exactly what she’d wanted to avoid. He recognized Zola, of course, and his first thought would be that HYDRA had followed her back to him. “Doctor, I told you to wait in the... Bucky, no! Stop!”

He shoved her behind him and drew a knife from its sheath. She expected him to attack Zola next, but he stood planted firmly between her and the door as if he was trying to use himself as a shield. His eyes were wild and his expression just this side of agony as he snarled. “You bastard, I won’t let you hurt her!”

Zola stood his ground, merely shaking his head with a chiding look. “I can see we have our work cut out for us. The damage is indeed extensive, worse than I had feared.”

“Peggy, run,” Bucky ordered her, pushing at her again. “Run, now!”

“You don’t understand, Bucky,” Peggy tried to explain, rushing through the words in the hopes of getting them out before he did something irreversible. “This is the man I brought to help you. He’s not HYDRA any more, he’s SHIELD.”

Ignoring her, he gathered himself and charged straight at Zola. It didn’t look like he had much in the way of a plan; he was simply determined to kill the man any way he could.

“Protocol sigma theta!” Zola snapped out, his voice crisp and commanding. 

To Peggy’s utter shock Bucky froze, so abruptly that he didn’t even complete the step he’d been in the middle of taking. He fell, hitting the floor with one knee and lurching forward, barely catching himself with his metal hand to prevent him from continuing on to fall on his face.

“What in the world?” Astonished, Peggy hurried forward to Bucky, kneeling beside him. She could see the tension in his muscles, the way he was straining to make himself move, but it was as if his limbs had been glued into place.

“Certain key commands are implanted in the subject to allow for control even in dire situations,” Zola explained. “It is not quite as simple as merely speaking the words, of course, but it is effective.”

Wide-eyed, Peggy glanced down at Bucky again. He still hadn’t moved... no, he’d managed to turn his head, just enough to let him see her. The look in his eyes was as bleak and desolate as anything she’d ever seen in his expression. It was the aftermath of every nightmare combined, utter despair so deep he was drowning in it. “Run,” he whispered, his voice so ragged it was clearly costing him everything he had to get the single word out. 

And this time it wasn’t an order... it was a desperate plea.

Too late, Peggy realized she’d been played for a fool. Bucky’s reaction wasn’t the result of a mistakenly perceived threat; it was a response to real and imminent danger from a man he _knew_ to be an enemy. She reached for his gun, but it was in a shoulder holster on the other side of his body and her arm wasn’t long enough. Cursing, she scrabbled for the knife he’d dropped instead.

“Hold her,” Zola ordered. He sounded unconcerned, almost bored by her attempt to turn on him.

As if he’d suddenly come alive, Bucky was moving again. Before she could even think to get away he’d caught her wrist and twisted her arm up behind her, expertly applying pressure to the elbow and shoulder joints in a way that left Peggy unable to struggle without risking dislocation. He used the hold to lever her upward, coming to his feet standing just behind her, and reached around with his metal arm to grip her throat firmly in his hand.

He exerted just enough pressure to threaten her ability to breathe without cutting it off. He’d learned from their first encounter, and tangled one of her legs thoroughly with his, preventing her from being able to kick at him to get free.

“Bucky, no,” she protested. Surely Zola couldn’t have undone a month’s worth of progress in just a few words. “Don’t do this! Fight it, fight him!”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I can’t... I can’t disobey. Not him.”

His hold on her was implacable, not hesitant in the least. But the grief and horror she could hear in his voice were louder than any scream. He was still himself, still aware that what he was doing was wrong, but unable to stop his actions regardless.

“You lying _snake_ ,” Peggy spat at Zola. “SHIELD gave you a second chance, an opportunity to continue your work, and this is how you repay us?”

“It was no lie,” he told her, so innocent butter wouldn’t have melted in his mouth. “I am genuinely appreciative of everything SHIELD has done for me. Without your resources, HYDRA would never have survived. Now that you’ve discovered the truth, of course, you’ve only sealed your fate.”

He smiled at her, a fond expression like an uncle might bestow upon a favourite niece. “A shame, really. I have come to admire you. What you have accomplished in the face of great prejudice is nothing short of remarkable. Unfortunately my work is at a point where I can no longer afford to have someone as competent and observant as you directing the organization.” He gestured at Bucky. “Finish her.”

Bucky’s metal hand tightened marginally, enough to make it very difficult to breathe but not quite enough to block her air completely. Peggy could feel him shaking, presumably with internal conflict as he fought against the order. “No,” he grated out, and his grip eased again. 

Both of Zola’s eyebrows shot up, his shock so extreme it might have been comical under other circumstances. “You dare to defy _me_? Kill her, now, or the punishment you have already earned will be doubled.”

A growl resonated in Bucky’s chest, so forceful Peggy could feel it against her back. He shifted his hand away from her neck entirely, though he didn’t release his hold on her other arm. “ _Never_.”

Shock turned to speculation, and Zola eyed them both as though he was studying a hitherto unknown insect that had dropped into his porridge – with a combination of fascination and repugnance. “Interesting. It appears I have miscalculated. A rare occurrence, I assure you. He must truly love you, to resist in the face of what he knows is coming.”

“Bucky let me go,” Peggy insisted. “You’re already disobeying, you’ll be punished either way. Let me go.” If she could only get free, this time she was in the correct position to be able to spin and pull his gun from the holster. 

“You should have run when I told you to,” he replied, his voice rough with agony. “You don’t understand… I _can’t_. It’s all I can do not to crush your throat right now.”

Zola was smiling again, or perhaps smirking was a more accurate description. “This may be an even better outcome than my original plan. I’m certain I can find ways to make use of this new development. Knock her out, then carry her to the car. Once we return to the city, I’ll contact my agents to ensure you are both sent safely back to Germany.”

“No! You can’t take her!” Bucky’s protest was anguished – he sounded as if thought capture was a worse fate for Peggy than being killed. When she considered the horrors he’d been through, she was deathly afraid he was correct in his assessment. 

“Fight it,” she ordered him. “Bucky, you can do this, you’ve come so far! Don’t give in – he can only hurt you if you let him take us. If you kill him now, he’ll never hurt you or anyone else again.” Bucky shuddered against her, and his grip loosened marginally. For a moment Peggy thought she’d reached him, and they would win free after all. 

Then Zola was there beside them, holding a hypodermic needle full of clear amber liquid. Bucky whimpered faintly at the sight of it, a sound of abject terror and panic. Zola smiled at him – and pressed the tip of the needle lightly against Peggy’s captive arm, dimpling the flesh there but not quite piercing it. 

“You and I will be having a long discussion about your loyalty and obedience regardless,” Zola said, his eyes never leaving Bucky. “Right now, you have a choice. You may render her unconscious however you like, or she will suffer hours of agonized paralysis.”

Peggy didn’t dare to struggle. Any movement would drive the needle into her skin, and she had no doubt Zola would then press the plunger. Bucky’s fearful reaction told her exactly how bad the effects of that drug, whatever it was, could be. Was this how they had broken him so thoroughly? Forcing him to choose between two impossible options, each choice worse than the last?

Was it how they would break her, as well?

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered in her ear, as he placed his metal arm across her throat and gradually applied pressure. “I love you, I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

“Forgiven, darling.” Peggy used her last breath of air on the words. No matter what happened, no matter what they forced him to do to her or anyone else, she would always forgive him. If knowing that would give him even the tiniest measure of comfort against what was to come, she had to make certain he heard it.

Already her lungs were burning, her chest heaving in a futile attempt to draw in air that simply wasn’t available. Darkness ate at her vision, which at least meant she didn’t have to look at Zola’s satisfied smirk any longer.

As consciousness faded entirely, Peggy’s last thought was deep regret that Daniel would never know what had happened to her, and might well believe she’d chosen to break her promise to him after all.


	10. Epilogue

He stood motionless in the corner where they’d put him, watching as they prepped the woman for cryo (no no no). The first set of drugs was already kicking in; he could tell by the way her gaze drifted, unfocused, as they lowered the lid of the chamber (stop them damn it!). 

There wasn’t a mark on her, no sign of the (torture) punishment they’d inflicted on her (his fault, all his fault). She was still struggling (so much spirit) but her movements were weak and uncoordinated. Soon, as the air froze inside the cryo shell, even that much control of her body would be gone, and then she would sleep (at least they won’t hurt her in there).

Techs swarmed around him, ignoring his presence as if he were no more than a statue (he might as well be, for all the good he was doing her). The babble of jargon as they monitored the freezing process might as well have been an unknown language. But all of his attention was on her.

(He could still save her. He could kill them all, take her out and help her escape. Or at the very least, kill her himself so they couldn’t hurt her any more.)

His hand twitched, inching towards the nearest knife hilt on his belt. If he stayed focused on her, on wanting to save her, he could move even though he’d been ordered to stand still. They’d punish him later, but it would be worth it if he could only...

“You wish to protect her.”

He stopped, fingers just brushing the hilt, unable to move any further. Zola had stepped up beside him, and obviously noticed what he was doing. Now he’d be punished, and he hadn’t even accomplished anything.

It hadn’t been phrased as a question, but he was compelled to answer regardless. “Yes.”

“Good.” Zola smiled up at him, clearly reading the shock he didn’t quite manage to hide. “Yes, that’s right. You have a new primary mission, one that supersedes all other orders. You are to protect this woman at all costs.”

For once the voice in his head was silent, as astonished as the rest of him. Protect her? He was not only allowed to protect her, he was _ordered_ to?

Before he could convince his (traitorous) body that the order meant he _was_ allowed to attack the techs putting her to sleep, Zola continued. “The cryostasis chamber is the safest place she can be. You see? Nothing can hurt her while she sleeps in the ice. We are helping you to protect her.”

There was something... seriously flawed in that (bullshit) logic, but anything Zola told him was automatically true, so he had to believe the doctor was correct. And he couldn’t argue that as long as she was in the cryo shell, nothing could harm her. 

Most especially, his handlers wouldn’t keep hurting her in order to punish him. (He’d thought the punishments couldn’t get any worse, that there was nothing they could do that would be more painful than what they’d done before. Until they made him stand and watch while they hurt _her_ , and he discovered the true meaning of agony.)

“If at any time you discover that she has been removed from the safety of cryogenic sleep, you must find her and protect her,” Zola told him. “You must return her to safety. You do not wish her to come to harm, yes?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, I don’t want her to be hurt.” He never knew exactly how to answer when the doctor phrased his questions that way, and sometimes it earned him punishment for giving the ‘wrong’ answer when he’d meant to say what he was supposed to. But this time Zola merely nodded.

“Excellent. Then, I believe we have successfully completed your rehabilitation. Congratulations.” Zola’s smile widened. “When you successfully complete a mission, you will be permitted to spend time watching over her. If you fail...”

“I won’t fail,” he said hastily, shuddering. Failure was no longer an option. It hadn’t been a good one before, but now... now it meant they’d hurt _her_.

“Then say your goodbyes,” Zola commanded him. “You will be joining her shortly.”

Not quite believing he was really being given permission, he kept his eyes on the doctor as he took the first steps forward. Zola merely gestured for him to continue, and he turned his attention to the cryo shell as he crossed the distance to it.

The glass window at the front had already begun to frost over, but he could see her eyes were still open. She focused on him, and he saw her lips move, but the word made no sense to him (Bucky, she said Bucky). Slowly she lifted one hand and pressed it against the glass, and he reached out to match it with his flesh hand.

“I will protect you, I swear,” he told her. (Why did it feel like he was already failing in his duty.) “I won’t let anything hurt you. I’ll behave, and you’ll be safe here.”

Her eyes closed, and her hand slid away out of sight. Still, he remained standing guard over her, fingers pressed to the glass as the only point of contact he had, until they finally came to take him to his own sleep.

“I promise,” he said once more, as his handlers led him away. “I’ll protect you.”

(Liar.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _thought_ I had part three of the series complete and ready to post, and then I went to see Age of Ultron last night. ;p The irony of having been joss'd by a Joss Whedon film is not lost on me, lol. I'm going to have to do some rearranging, but I think I've got it mostly figured out now, so part 3 should be up before too long. No promises on how long the rest will take me, I haven't written this much so fast in a long time.


End file.
